Lunar: Dual Blade Saga
by Matthew R. Barnes
Summary: Okay, title needs...work. Anyway, summary and author's-note inside. Crossover warning.
1. Disclaimer & Author's Notes

Disclaimer/Author's Notes

Whelp, here 'tis, my second true endeavor here at FF.Net.  Another crossover, in spite of my usual slight distaste for them.  This time, however, there are more things that need to be said than a typical disclaimer, so I decided to devote a chapter to this.

For one thing, it should be known that this fic will contain spoilers (some of them rather heavy) for not only "Lunar: Silver Star Story Complete" and "Lunar 2: Eternal Blue"…but also for "Lufia and the Fortress of Doom" and "Lufia 2: Rise of the Sinistrals".  Sadly, those two are the only ones in the series' I have knowledge of the complete storylines for, so if anything in "Lufia: The Legend Returns" (I know "Lufia: The Ruins of Lore has nothing to do with the real Lufia storyline) is in conflict with anything I've written, I implore you to take it with a grain of salt.  After all, theoretically the Lunar and Lufia worlds are completely different.

The reason I decided to make this a crossover, to be honest, was because I've always wanted to do a Lunar fic but could never think of a solid plot or antagonists…and I've always been rather enamored of the concepts of Dual Blade and the Sinistrals from Lufia.  While surfing through the 'net once I stumbled upon an odd Lunar/Lufia crossover fic, very short, that reminded me why I don't like crossovers.  Ghaleon _is_ Dual Blade?  Wtf?! .

Ehrm.  Anyway.  It did give me the jumpstart I needed, though.  Since they never really specify even what _world_ the Blue Star _is_, it could very well be the Lufia world.  That's certainly what this fic assumes, at any rate.

Well, with that out of the way until I think of more to add to this…on to the important stuff.  I do not own Lunar, Lufia, or any of their respective properties, as if I _did_ I would not be putting this piece of prose _here_.  Sit back, relax and enjoy the show…and of course, constructively critique. 


	2. Iris

"Ugh...I think it's stuck, Rose..."

"Oh, stop being a baby; just pull harder!"

"No, I mean it!  It's really _stuck!"_

"Hmph.  If I had hands I'd slap you silly for being such a wuss and pull it out myself."

"Alright, alright, _alright...!  Just let me get a better grip...it what they say is true, it's been here for thousands of years anyway!"_

"Yeah, yeah, just keep pulling!  I think I saw it budge!"

"Guh...I can't believe I let you talk me into this..."

"Stop yappin' and start pullin'!"

A moment of silence, save for the scuffling of feet against stone...followed by a bedazzling flash of light and a roar as of an exploding volcano...and then, silence once more.

Iris

It was the strange, incessant sensation of something padded batting at his cheek and eyelid that awoke him at last, though his eyes remained stubbornly closed.  He uttered a groan in his first effort to stop the ceaseless prodding, but it only seemed to intensify.  The second thing that occurred to him, now that his faculties were more in order, was the presence of something smooth and cylindrical in his right hand, fingers curled almost painfully tight around it...and the third, was the feel of something pleasantly soft and yielding beneath his head, like a pillow.

Lastly was the realization that he was lying flat on his back, on rugged turf save for his head.

"He's coming around!"  The voice was familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't remember-ah!  Of course!  None other than the owner of those tiny extremities patting at his face.

"Ugh...R-Rose, stop that..." he mumbled drowsily.  Unsurprisingly, she didn't stop.  Then, something occurred to him: who could Rose possibly be talking to?  The two of them had come alone...

"Relax," a soft new voice spoke, distinctly female, as he tried to shove himself to a seated position and peer about for this newcomer, and a gentle hand at his shoulder pushed him back down.  "You are safe.  Thanks to your small friend."

He wanted to tell this gentle-sounding benefactor that it had been his "small friend's" urgency that got them into this mess anyway-especially since Rose had just uttered a smug affirmation-but the words simply muddled together in his brain as though he were dreaming, refusing to come out properly and educate her.  So instead, he settled for the marginally less unpleasant alternative of relaxing into his makeshift pillow.  He allowed himself a short while to rest and relax, but a true warrior couldn't let himself succumb to weakness for long stretches of time, so at last he forced his reluctant eyelids to lift.

It was like trying to lift lead weights, but he finally managed.  It wasn't a vast improvement; instead of impenetrable darkness his field of vision was replaced with a bleary mishmash of colors, greens and blues.  Gradually, as he concentrated on them, these blobs of color began to blend into focus.  One patch of green, he didn't even need to think about; it was a very particular shade, too bright to be grass or tree leaves; that would be Rose.  The blue was oddly too dark for sky, a deep shade of navy blue that framed an even more oddly flesh-toned oval.  A face, he realized as it resolved itself into softly curved cheeks and a concerned frown, with deep blue hair drifting down like a curtain.

"…Althena?" he whispered, briefly awed.  He had seen pictures of the Patron Goddess of Lunar, ever since he'd been a child, from storybook depictions to church reliefs and stained-glass windows, and her blue hair and legendary beauty were always her most defining traits; this girl certainly had both in abundance.

The melodic laughter that rewarded him was so sweet to the ears that he didn't even feel mortified.  "You must have hit your head when you fell.  I couldn't find anything physically wrong, though, so you should be okay in awhile."

"Mark, the nice lady's name is Iris," Rose said by way of introduction, a subtle weight settling lightly onto his chest.  "She agreed to come find you after you passed out trying to pull that dumb sword out of the monument.  Iris, this is my big dumb friend Mark."

"Hi," Mark added weakly, lifting his empty hand to wave, and then raising it over the weight on his chest.  Fingers found the back of a furred neck and pinched to lift the little creature up by the scruff and before his face.  A distinctly feline face, though marked by green fur no true cat had ever borne with a tiny tuft of rose-pink at her crown, glared belligerently down into his with irritated golden-brown eyes.  She wrestled out of his grip with a fluttering of tiny wings, sending downy green feathers wafting down into his face that made him sneeze.

"You're lucky your little friend found me before someone else found _you_," Iris' voice continued, retreating as she moved away--thus indicating that whatever his head was resting on wasn't what he had been rather hoping it was.  He heard the sound of rummaging, as though she was digging in a pack or bag, as she continued.  "Lunar is a dangerous world for a lone traveler.  Looking at your clothes, I'd judge you to be from the Blue Star.  You're dressed a little warm for Lunar's climate; you must not be used to the cooler weather yet."

This time he pushed himself up more sedately, his empty hand lifting to cover one of his eyes and the inside of the thumb joint kneading at his temple.  "Ugh...what happened to me, anyway?  Last I recall I was trying to pull out that..."  His head turned, seeking out the monument perched precariously at the edge of the rock-outcropping that overlooked Burg's Gorge.  Sure enough, the stone slab still stood firm, even the writing on it still sharp and clear after nearly two thousand years--so the legends said.  But then he realized it was subtly different, and after a moment he realized that there was a piece missing...and a single, vertical slit in the ivy-tangled granite just wide enough for a blade to snugly fit.

Looking down at the object in his right hand, he felt his eyes go round and wide.  What had looked like a tarnished and rusted peasant's sword, a miserable excuse for a weapon while lodged in the stone monument, was now a marvelous blade fit for a Dragonmaster.  The entire hilt was molded from what looked like solid gold, but felt much sturdier and more durable.  The grip was patterned in the image of a long, tight scaly coil that terminated at the pommel in a stylized dragon's head with ruby chips for eyes.  Just above where the handle began, two crossbars stretched boldly out in ramrod-straight right-angles from the blade, their very tips forming curled knobs, and directly between them was set a single, faceted sky-blue gemstone, roughly diamond-shaped.  The straight, unblemished blade was long, nearly three feet, and shimmered like newly-forged platinum, reflecting what he could swear was more light than actually reached through the trees overhead.

"Wow..." Rose breathed the sentiment that he couldn't force to reach his lips, her gaze apparently having followed his.  "That's..."

"So, it really is Althena's Sword."  This time it was Iris' somber voice that broke into his thoughts, even as he lifted the sword up and made an experimental pass through the air with it.  It actually seemed to ring with some indefinable quality as it moved through the air, and the grip, heft and balance were so ideal it felt as though it may have been forged explicitly to fit his hand and fighting style.  "Magnificent..."

For the first time, Mark turned to survey Iris as she stood over where he sat.  Aside from her long, straight blue hair cascading to her waist--and, he realized now that his gaze was better focused, strikingly scarlet eyes--she seemed surprisingly...normal.  She was still strikingly beautiful, and what little he could see of her figure through her loose men's clothes suggested vaguely at idyllic, but the clothes alone gave her a much more down-to-earth image.  She was dressed much like himself, if a touch lighter, wearing a loose white tunic and burgundy trousers, folded-down brown leather boots and a flowing black mantle suited to a traveling warrior.  The sword belted at her hip, and shield propped against the base of a tree next to the pack behind her spoke strongly for this conclusion, as well.

Somewhat awkwardly, Mark raised his empty hand to pass through his own unruly scarlet hair, even as Iris stepped closer and bent low to examine the weapon in his hand.  Then, quite suddenly, her head lifted and eyes as red as those rubies in the sword's pommel bored into his own.  She held his gaze for a long moment, so long that he was startled when she spoke again.  "You have green eyes."

"H-Huh?"  The sudden observation caught him off guard and left him suddenly self-conscious, as though he could almost feel her looking beyond those emerald discs and into the darkest corners at the back of his mind.  "Well...um..."

"No wonder," Iris continued, oblivious to his discomfort as he finally managed to tear his gaze away from hers.  "That explains everything."

"Explains what?" Rose piped up, suddenly suspicious as she fluttered to a landing on his shoulder, a tiny paw lifting to pat errant locks of his hair back into place with an almost motherly touch.  It felt awkwardly out-of-place from a creature so small with a voice so high-pitched.

"How a mere human could have so easily pulled Althena's Sword from the Dragonmaster's Monument," Iris tossed lightly over her shoulder as she returned to her pack, this time closing it up and hanging the shield from it before hefting it to sling over her shoulder.  "Still, I'm impressed nonetheless, though I'd like to ask a favor of you."

"What kind of favor?" Mark asked instantly, then bit his tongue even as Rose similarly sank her tiny, pointy teeth into his ear...both in chagrin at his own haste and to stifle the yelp the latter action nearly elicited.  He had _meant_ to utter a more derisive comment as to the supposed "ease" of drawing the sword, but the moment she had mentioned the word "favor" his overactive reproduction drive had kicked in before his brain.  Something about the word "favor" coming from the lips of a beautiful woman, he supposed.

But the slip was out and it was too late to recall; Iris surely wasn't about to let it go.  "I came here looking to find Althena's Sword, myself.  I need it for something.  But now that you've beaten me to it fair and square, I'm forced to beseech you for help instead.  Besides, what with you having the Green Eyes, and the sword having chosen you, you're the only one who _can_ perform the task."

"Wait a minute," Rose broke in before Mark could begin thinking with the wrong head again.  "If only humans with green eyes can get it, how were _you_ going to?  I may look like a cat, but I'm not color-blind."

"I said his green eyes explained the _ease_ of obtaining it," Iris clarified, still standing with her pack slung over one shoulder and the other settled on her hip, just above where her sword hung.  "There are spells and rituals, days' worth of rites and passages from ancient grimoires, that I had planned to use.  This is just as well, since it saves me several days of delicate procedures that would have to be begun anew with the slightest mistake.  But only if the Dragonmaster-to-Be is willing to help me."

"D-Dragonmaster..?!" Mark blurted, somewhere between amused derision and shocked disbelief.  "That's only a legend!  Everybody knows Dragonmasters are just a fairy tale told to get kids to sleep at night!  There's no such thing as a Dragon!"

Iris chuckled softly, her hand rising from her hip to hook a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the motion briefly mesmerizing as it slipped right back down over her shoulder.  "As you wish, Proto-Dragonmaster Mark.  It doesn't matter right now, anyway.  You have Althena's Sword, but if that still isn't enough for you, it doesn't really have to be.  Will you lend me the power of the sword anyway, regardless?"  Noting his hesitation, she frowned and stepped closer, her tone urgent almost to the point of begging.  "Please."

"What is it we'd have to do?" Rose asked before he could fall to the spell of those fiery red eyes.  A look of faint annoyance crossed Iris' face for the briefest of instants, momentarily transforming it from a vision of beauty to something frighteningly cold and alien...but it was gone just as quickly, her expression one of proud beseeching once again.

"It's a small task, it truly is.  I only wish you to accompany me to find another sword, the mate of Althena's Sword which will only fully respond to its presence.  I need it for...a personal task I would rather not discuss."

"Smells fishy to me, Mark," Rose hissed into his ear, and this time he had to bite the corner of his mouth to restrain a snicker as the tiny creature's breath tickled the lobe.  "And not in the good way.  I say we take the sword to some church, sell it for a tidy mint of silver, and then get off this rock and go home."

It was tempting, so very tempting, to just go along with what Rose suggested.  But really, was it so much she was asking?  Althena knew he had his own secrets and things he would rather not discuss, and she was only asking him to help find a sword.  If her intentions were truly evil after all, he still _had_ Althena's Sword, so he could deal with whatever it was then.

"I'll help," he said at last, suppressing a wince when Rose dug her tiny claws painfully into the shoulder beneath her, and was compensated when Iris' face brightened into a jubilant smile.  "Just let me get my things together, alright?"

"Quickly," Iris agreed, stepping back out of his way.  "Time is of the essence."

"R-Right...!"  Knowing there was no hope for the voice of reason to be heard at this point, Rose merely rolled her eyes skyward with a sigh of resignation, and fluttered up off Mark's shoulder to keep from being dislodged less gracefully as he rushed to his pack of supplies and began gathering up the small pile, which included his own sheathed sword and red-painted steel shield.

It occurred to him after a moment, to his chagrin, that he only had the one sword-sheath, in which his old blade from back home on the Blue Star resided.  He frowned for a moment in thought, before the solution occurred to him.  Reaching for his own mantle, which was as crimson as his hair and shield, he started to wind it around the blade of Althena's Sword--but then he had a second thought.  Smoothing the cape out in the grass once more, he reached to draw his old sword in his now empty hand.  He laid its blade across the fabric of the cape, and then reverentially slid the Sword of Althena into the scabbard of his old steel sword.  It wasn't a perfect fit, and it seemed somehow wrong to house such a marvelous sword in so mundane a sheath, but it was the best he had.  With that done, he began to wind the old steel sword up in the fabric of his cape, before tucking it lengthwise through the top flap of his pack.  Then he buckled his sword-belt at his right hip, hung his shield from the back of his pack, and slung the whole affair over his right shoulder in a mirror of Iris' own posture.

Rose flapped in to settle back on his left shoulder, and all was finally in place.  "Ready when you are," Mark announced confidently.  Iris took a moment to examine him and his preparations critically, then gave a small, decisive nod before turning without further word and beginning to walk.  It suddenly occurred to Mark that he still had no idea where they were going, but Iris wasn't so much as slowing her pace, and her strides consumed so much ground he very nearly had to jog to keep up, leaving him little room to interject with any questions.

Well, he _had come to the Silver Star seeking excitement that hadn't been present on the Blue Star.  It looked as though he was about to get it._

The whole of the Great Hall was darkened and dank, lending the feeling that it had been uninhabited for centuries, even millennia, in spite of the fact that it seemed all but untouched by time.  The water that flowed on either side of the main walkway was still pure, crystalline blue, fed by spouts from the mouths of stylized gargoyles and passing through metal gratings to either side of the grand double-doors that lead to other parts of the castle.  A broad red carpet lined the central walkway, leading up to a raised dais at the opposite end of the chamber.  This place was obscured utterly, unilluminated even the dismal lights from the torches that lined the two pools of flowing water.

And yet, within that profound darkness, even the most casual observer could feel an ominous presence, a dark and terrible force that sat and lazily bided its time, like a tiger waiting for its prey to sleep before pouncing.

The visitor to this nightmarish chamber was announced not by the sound of the double doors booming open, but rather by a deep resonating humming, as a man-sized ball of scarlet light spiraled in directly down from the darkness of the vaulted ceiling, not so much as leaving a hole in the roof from its passage, and settling gently to the immaculate red carpet before the double doors.

The light began to mold itself into a more cohesive shape, coalescing into the outlines of arms and legs, wild locks of long hair and a flowing cape.  Then, it began to take on darker colors, the bulk of it dimming to a deep midnight blue that shone in the firelight with the glint of metal.  The cape, on the other hand, softened, the exterior taking on the same midnight-blue hue as the visitor's armor while the inner lining darkened into a rich magenta.  A shield distinguished itself from the scarlet light, buckled to the man's left arm, and a sword created a slight bulge at the hem of the mantle.  The only thing that remained the same color was his hair, framing a golden-bronzed face lined with battle-scars and crow's feet.  Soon, all that was left of the scarlet ball of light was a shimmering red aura, an unsubtle glow around the man's body that radiated almost tangible malice.

The great, hulking figure, nearly half again the height of the average man and broad enough at the shoulders to equal two battle-toughened warriors, strode toward the shadowy dais at the opposite end of the Great Hall with caution that seemed almost comical for one of his proportions.  When he came to a stop before the stairs leading up, he dropped reverently to one knee with a subdued clank of plate mail.

Within the darkness upon the dais, two glowing crimson slits appeared, set just close enough together to resemble eyes, and widened subtly.  "Gades," was all the acknowledgment the armored man received, the voice of the speaker booming deeply enough that it felt as though it might shake the foundations of the palace itself.

"My Lord Arek," Gades replied, his voice low and respectful, if grudgingly so.

"Why have you come?" the being addressed as Arek asked suddenly, blunt as a hammer blow to the face.  "Erim is in place and performing her assigned task."

"It is not my place to question you, Lord," Gades replied in a tone that bespoke very different sentiments, though surprisingly subtly for him, "but I cannot help wondering whether it is wise to trust Erim with so important a task.  She has betrayed us before."

"She has been punished and then some for her deviation," Arek intoned calmly, somehow suggesting without a hint of malice in his voice that Gades was dancing on the line of a similar punishment, "and the task at hand requires subtlety.  The rest of you three are all every bit as subtle as swatting a gnat with a battle-axe.  Erim has proven her proficiency at subterfuge, even if as an act of betrayal.  With her current punishment upon her shoulders, she will not dare betray us again."

Gades lurched to his feet, throwing off his pretense at humility.  "Well, I don't like it!" he bellowed, a raging bull with the promise of catastrophe in his glowing-red eyes.  "I tell you, Erim is a rogue!  She is weak, soft toward humans!  _I_ should be--"

Gades' tirade was cut off by a burst of amber light, briefly illuminating an outstretched hand and the folds of a portion of teal blue cloak in the darkness around the throne.  Gades did not see this, however, for the bolt of light struck him square in the breastplate and sent him toppling backward along the gold-trimmed red carpet, stopping just short of one of the pools.  He lay still and silent for several long moments, his only motion the rise and fall of his massive armored chest.

"Question me again and you shall share Erim's fate," Arek droned, his tone idle and disinterested.  "Now be gone, Gades.  We have waited far too long for this chance to pass us by and I will not permit you to jeopardize it."

Slowly, wincingly, Gades rose to his feet, not looking at the shadows from which his lord's eyes glowed with frightful intensity.  Then, the bull of a man began to walk toward the double-doors, bursting into a ball of scarlet light mere steps away from them and rocketing toward the ceiling once again.

"So impatient," Arek commented dryly to himself, once Gades was gone.  "The only question is how to make the best use of such a mad bull."

Slowly, he began to chuckle, and then to laugh outright, his thunderous voice causing sand to sift down from the vaulted ceiling high above.  It was only a matter of time, now.

Mark had been traveling for much of the past three years of his life.  He was no stranger to the way of the wanderer, to long hours of nothing but walking in silence, save for the ambient sounds of nature.  And he was used to the traveler's pace as well, walking in measured strides that ate ground without exhausting one's inner reserves to the point of resting every ten minutes.

But Iris had apparently taken this form of travel to the level of an art.  She walked at a speed that was just short of an outright jog, her sable cape bobbing and flapping in her wake with each step, and yet still maintained a gait of effortless grace, like a tireless drone ant with only enough of a mind for one purpose, heedless to such trivialities as pain and fatigue.

Thus, it was an embarrassingly short time, just inside an hour, when Mark ground to a halt, barely able to pant out his request, "M-Miss...um...Iris, wait...!  I know you're in a h-hurry, but it's no good arriving dead ex...exhausted..."

At first, she merely kept walking, eyes fixed forward and deep blue hair swaying gently with every step.  But when she apparently realized she no longer heard the sound of his footsteps following, she turned slowly and crossed her arms, frowning.  "I thought you were a man, a warrior even."

"I'm still only h-human," he gasped, a hand pressing into the stitch in his side as he watched her dispassionate eyes survey him.  Rose was, thankfully, comfortable snoozing in a pocket of his pack; otherwise he'd have never heard the end of this incident from her.

Iris blinked once, her expression genuinely startled, as though that thought hadn't even occurred to her.  Then, her expression softened subtly and she nodded once, stepping back toward him.  "Of course.  I'm sorry.  I was in such a hurry I didn't think..."

As she approached him, he realized she wasn't even breathing heavily, and he watched her in disbelief.  _What's this girl _made_ of...?_

Gently placing an arm to his, she guided him to one side of the path and urged him to sit on a fallen log, even as a subtle breeze wafted through the trees overhead.  "You're right to be...in a hurry..." he panted, still eyeing her suspiciously.  "These are the W-Weird Woods.  They're infested with Goblins, and even darker things.  Some of the plants are even man-eaters."

"Fortunate for me that I'm not a man, then, isn't it?" Iris tossed off lightly, as she settled down to sit beside him, swinging her pack down to rest at the base of the log.  Heaving a great sigh of relief, Mark mimicked her, though more gentle so as not to jostle Rose out of her catnap.

Mark was about to answer her with a good-natured if somewhat lewd comment about why plant-monsters would find her even more tasty, when a sudden rustling of the underbrush startled him.  It had been too spontaneous and too violent to be a mere act of the wind, which wasn't strong enough this far below the tree level to cause such a reaction.

Iris, proving her own warrior's instincts to be true, noticed as well.  Her head lifted, all traces of mirth gone from her face, and she slowly rose from where she sat.  She bent to loose her shield--which Mark now realized was hammered into the macabre semblance of a snarling beast's skull--and slung it into place on her left forearm.  Then she pushed back her black cape to reach for her sword, whose crossbars and pommel also bore stylized images reflecting the morbid shield.  When Mark rose to follow suit, she placed the flat of the rune-etched black Damascus blade lightly across his chest.  "Stay here.  I'll deal with it."

He started to protest, but a single look from her scarlet eyes stilled him.  There was no room for tenderness or good humor in that gaze; only the promise of death.  He swallowed hard, and desisted, watching as she strode out to the middle of the path and rapped the flat of her sword on the rim of her shield, sounding out an ancient warrior's challenge.

Goblins were creatures of only rudimentary intellect, but it was an intellect just childish enough to be unable to resist a challenge, even when a less dangerous target was easily available.  For a moment, Mark began to wonder about the mental state of his recently acquired travel companion, for though she held a sword and shield in hand, she wore not even chain-mail, let alone true armor; her tunic fit far too closely to leave any room for such beneath.

He needn't have worried, though.  Just as the first shufflings from the brush began to draw near, Iris reached the middle finger of her sword-hand toward the hand behind her shield, and with two of those fingers, she subtly twisted a single ring on the extended one.

There was a babbled yelp from the beasts beyond the tree line, which Mark found himself hard-pressed not to echo, as the ring flared up with scarlet light that sketched its way up along the back of her hand from the ring.  Two slightly-curved lines of blood-red light arched gracefully as far as her wrist, solidifying into delicate black chain in the wake of the glow as it progressed upward.

At first, it seemed as though a bracelet was forming at her wrist from the light, but it continued to spread upward, seeming from its close fit to be replacing clothing rather than covering it.  A black enameled forearm-bracer flared into existence from her wrist to the inside of her elbow, leaving a gap of pale, bare skin before the glow resumed at her shoulder with the beginnings of an inky shoulder plate, which lead to a similarly midnight-hued breastplate that carried on down to her waist.  The scarlet light diverged in three directions, at this point, traveling in rings upward toward her brow where it left a black circlet inset with a small ruby almost like a third eye; along the left arm to mirror what it had created on the right; and down from her waist, creating a divided white battle-skirt and knee-length boots.  A final flash of red, and light steely-gray chainmail appeared to interconnect the segments, leaving only her face and hands bare of metallic protection.

The light-show, at last, had been enough to awaken Rose from her slumber, but she and Mark were both too wide-eyed and slack-jawed to speak.

The beasts in the woods were, as well...at first.  But another impatient rap of sword-flat on shield was enough to jolt them back to awareness.  Mark wasn't sure whether to consider it fortunate or unfortunate that Goblins were also too thick to recognize a more dangerous predator when it bared its fangs at them, as the creatures began to advance.

They were vaguely man-like, though their warty and leathery skin was the same dull brown of tree bark and their clothing varied in the hues of dead leaves, making excellent forest camouflage.  They carried an assortment of weapons in hand, from the most basic of clubs to the chipped and bent swords of fallen warriors, and most distant of all he spied even a shaman or two, carrying primitive--but effective, as many unfortunate adventurers had learned--magic canes and wearing clothes that were more robe-like than the rough tunics of the rest.  Bulbous noses, ragged pointy ears and nearly bald scalps adorned with savage scars completed the unsavory profiles, but Iris stood alone and unfazed; Mark was still too intimidated by her to defy her wishes and help her, even though he was recovering his breath nicely at that point.

The minute the first Goblin shambled out of the brush with a wild, clumsy but brutally strong swing of its club, however, Mark instantly found himself almost feeling sorry for the creatures.  Iris hadn't even bothered to raise her shield, stepping disinterestedly aside and almost contemptuously bringing her black sword down on the back of its neck.  The head toppled off without so much as a whisper of sound, rolling to a stop at Mark's feet, and he reflexively kicked the ugly staring thing away with a shudder.

It was like a green flag.  With wordless, incoherent bellows, half the small war party closed in on this dangerous viper of a woman.  And she was ruthless as she cut them down, her previously lovely visage now caught somewhere between boredom and scornful disdain as she took them apart.  Thick ichor sprayed and spurted, staining her armor and her luxurious long blue hair as she spun from future corpse to future corpse, a whirling dervish of Death who butchered  with an air of superior irritation.  Blows of clubs and swords cascaded off her shield, spells from the increasingly frantic shamans barely slowed her even as she grimaced from their impacts, while her own swings always found their mark with inhuman precision.

It was like watching a Goddess of Death wading through a crowd that had curried her displeasure.

The melee was over in mere seconds, though it seemed much longer as Mark tried to wrap his brain around the sheer butchery of it.  He had never seen even Goblins die so messily, cut down so heartlessly, and Iris stood amongst the blood and carnage with her sword dripping blackish, tar-like gore.  The shamans had run out of spells some time ago, and they could still be heard blubbering in their guttural language in the distance, as they shuffled off to whatever wretched holes they had crawled out of.

When Iris made as though to follow them, Mark finally found his resolve, and before he knew what he was doing or had the sense to stop himself, he stood interposed between this terrifying woman and the treeline, arms spread.  "Iris, that's enough."  He almost couldn't believe he had even said it, and found himself wondering just how much it would hurt when she cut him down like all the rest.

"Stand aside," Iris intoned coldly, her voice detached and her eyes not even focused on him as she strode boldly forward, as though to march straight through him.

Again before he knew what he was doing, he had straight-armed her, his forearm shoving horizontally into her collarbones, just above her generous (and now generously armored) chest.  "I said that's enough."  Even as he spoke the words, behind the facade of his determined green eyes his brain was screaming at him, _What are you doing__, you fool?!  Or was it Rose hissing into his ear?  For some reason, however, the consciously active part of him ignored it, whatever it was._

Even Iris, herself, seemed surprised at this sudden show of boldness.  Backing off after the half-hearted push, her crimson eyes began to slowly survey him, the surroundings and then herself, with dawning comprehension.  As suddenly as it had appeared, the eerie black armor dissolved back into crimson light that contracted back into the ring on her right hand, leaving the blood staining her sword, face and hair as the only testament to her bloody massacre of moments before.  And, of course, the mess on the ground.

"...Mark, are you alright?" she suddenly asked, dropping the sword and lifting her hand to his upper-arm, her previously hard and cold red eyes now softened around the edges and filled with warm concern that seemed almost out-of-place in them now.  That frigid, steely look had seemed all-too-well at home in them...but even now that was beginning to fade from his memory, like some terrible nightmare, as her brow furrowed in worry.

"I'm fine," he answered almost under his breath, vaguely aware of something nipping at his ear in increasing frustration.  "You?"

Iris nodded wordlessly, but even as she bent to pick up her dropped sword, he could see her flinch and touch her shield hand gingerly to her side.  While none of the sword or club blows had struck home, there hadn't been a shield invented yet that could fully ward off a spell.  He was amazed she had seemed to shrug off the ones that struck her in the slaughter--there was simply no referring to what he had seen as a battle, even with the images beginning to fade into obscurity in retrospect--but it seemed it had been in large part adrenaline carrying her.  She favored a knee, trusting most of her weight to the other as she pushed herself back up to wipe her sword off on a corner of her cape, then sheath it.

"Here," he said, not willing to leave it at that, and his hand rose to her upper-arm where her long-sleeved tan shirt had reappeared with the disappearance of the black armor.  She blinked up at him in bemusement, but before she could protest, he lead her to the fallen log they had been resting at before.  "Rose?" he asked, peering around, only for an especially hard pinch at his ear by needle-like teeth, that he could have sworn almost pierced.  He let out a yowl almost worthy of the winged-cat herself when he had stepped on her tail once, clapping his hand to the ear and almost knocking her off his shoulder.  "What was that for?!"

Rose merely glared at him icily, flapping about a foot away from his face.  "You can't honestly mean you expect me to heal this sociopath!"

"Rose..." he murmured plaintively, glancing between his old friend and his new one, who was staring at him with near-comprehension, touched with a different kind of bemusement.

Rose heaved a long-suffering sigh and nodded, rolling her eyes skyward.  Then she fluttered down to perch on the mossy log next to where Iris sat, closed her eyes and began to hum a soft tune.

Iris' eyes went round as, seemingly in response to the high-pitched humming, a soft verdant glow began to suffuse her body, outlining it even through the moderately thick fabric of her clothing.  It didn't cleanse the blood smears from her cheeks or hair, but the minor burns and frostbitten patches from spells, the scrapes and nicks and bruises, all began to rapidly mend themselves.  When at last the song had come to a stop, both Rose and Iris took in deep, cleansing breaths, albeit for different reasons.  Rose, while not exhausted, still had to exert _some_ effort to use her healing powers, and Iris was undoubtedly feeling the renewed strength that accompanied the healing process flowing through her body.

"Now all we have to do is get to a spring where you can wash up, eh?" Mark asked with a small, relieved sigh of his own, offering Rose his arm to perch on.  She did, with the affronted dignity of a regal matriarch who had just performed a task she felt beneath her, and climbed her way up to her usual perch on his shoulder.  "Won't do to pass through town covered in Goblin mess."

"No need."  Without further explanation, Iris lifted the hand with the ring on it once again, passing it smoothly over her smeared cheeks and back through her hair.  Without so much as a glimmering of light, this time, every spot the ring passed came abruptly clean, and as soon as her fingertips passed through the last feathery-soft tips of her hair, it very nearly looked as if the two of them had stumbled across this scene of butchery completely innocent.  Mark knew it would be a long time before he could fully burn the images he had seen out of his mind, but it already seemed so distant now that Iris was back to her former relatively innocent, if somewhat haughty self.

"Well, then."  Mark extended his hand to her, smiling to try and cover how disconcerted he was by her casual display of power.  What else was this woman capable of?  "Shall we go?"

She nodded, beaming a smile at him that left him almost unable to remember what her hard glare had even looked like, and stood at his urging.  "I promise to walk more slowly this time.  Come."  For a moment, she didn't even think to release his hand, though she made no comment when she did so to adjust the clasp of her mantle.

Shaking his head slightly, Mark made to follow her.  He had the feeling it was going to be a long trip, and he wasn't quite sure if he was looking forward to it or dreading it.


	3. EightStroke Sword

Eight-Stroke Sword

"You know, Iris," Mark said conversationally, weaving his fingers into the scarlet hair at the back of his head, as his emerald eyes surveyed the populace of Nells, the small fishing-village they had laid over in to wait for a ship, "You still haven't mentioned exactly where we're going."  Since the earliest points of Lunar's populated history there had been a fishing-village on the southwest cape of this island, keeping it and the small population scattered across it connected with the rest of the world.  Its name had varied over the centuries, even millennia, as had its size and prosperity, but its purpose and main source of revenue remained the same.

"The Star Dragon Tower," Iris tossed offhandedly as she surveyed her reflection in the large display-window at the store-front they were standing before.  At least, she pretended to be studying her reflection, though Mark had a sneaking suspicion she was covertly eyeing the intricate, bejeweled black choker fastened snugly around the throat of the mannequin before her.  It looked suspiciously like the rest of her armor, and even without that it would have complimented her cape splendidly--but he knew without asking the storekeeper that its price was far beyond the reserves of his meager pouch of silver, and to his astonishment Iris had told him she carried no silver on her at all.

Her revelation took a moment to sink in, since she had spoken it so casually, but when it did both he and Rose choked.  "Do you realize how far that is?!" he demanded, whirling toward her so fast he nearly flung Rose off his shoulder; she only maintained her position by digging her claws into the thankfully thick material of his tunic.  "That's practically the other side of the world from here!"

"This world is smaller than the Blue Star," Iris replied, her hand rising to lift a few hanks of hair clear from her throat as she eyed her reflection--and, Mark was sure now, the choker that was neatly superimposed over the reflection of her throat, at her angle.  "It isn't really as far as it seems.  Besides, the sword we need is on the Blue Star.  Whoever separated them was wise to do so; they were on the verge of awakening when they were split up, a thousand years ago."

Mark began to ask how precisely she would know about all this, but before he could get the words out, her eyes focused on his own reflection as she spoke again, gesturing to the choker with the hand not holding her hair aside.  "What do you think?  Does it suit me?"  Despite being a patent attempt to cover what was apparently a slip of the tongue, Mark let it go, resolving again to leave her to her secrets.  Rose didn't seem quite so easy to deter, so he settled for stuffing a silver coin into her mouth before she could push the issue.

"Ah...well, yes, but..."  He frowned, trying to think of the most polite way to say he couldn't afford it, without making it sound like she was asking--women, he had learned, could be funny about things like that--or sounding like a cheapskate himself.

He didn't need to worry.  Today seemed to be the day for coincidentally timely interruptions, for just as he was about to fry his admittedly ill-prepared brain-cells, a new voice spoke not far down the street. It was a harsh sound like the creaking of an ancient door-hinge, emanating from the dead center of a slowly gathering crowd.

"Repent, ye followers of the False Goddess!  Repent and prostrate yourselves before the might of the New Ones!  Soon they come, very soon indeed, and upon their coming the charlatan Althena shall be cast down and forgotten!  Bow, ye poor, blind souls, bow before the awesome might and spellbinding fury of the Sinistrals!"

Throughout most of the mad prophet's tirade, which Mark had largely tuned out after the initial surprise, Iris had remained for the most part uninterested, returning to her study of her reflection.  But upon this last sentence, her head lifted and she turned sharply in the direction of the crowd, ruby-tinted eyes wide.  Blinking, Mark turned as well, beginning to edge his way toward the crowd as Iris strode boldly toward them.

"Lords of Death and Destruction are they!  Masters of Terror and Chaos!  They shall cleanse this world in the pure fires of Hatred, and from the ashes the Silver Star and the Blue Star shall be born anew!"

Mark wasn't sure what was more shocking; the man's words alone, or the fact that there seemed to be faces in the crowd listening raptly to his message of doom and Armageddon.  He, himself, was just stooping to pick up a rather large rock--when he heard Iris' voice ringing clearly out, cutting off the rusty-door-hinge with confident abruptness.

"Silence, old one.  You know not of what you speak."  Like wolves making way for the leader of the pack, the crowd slowly parted to let her pass, some awed or even frightened by the cold look in her burning red eyes, others seemingly as eager as Mark to see this old madman silenced.  As the gap widened, Mark finally got to see the doomsayer.  He wasn't much to look at, to be honest, a gnarled old olive-tree of a man in burlap robes, whose wispy white hair was falling out in patches and who seemed to be suffering from some unidentifiable skin-disease, his rheumy bloodshot eyes focusing blearily on his apparent challenger.  He looked like, and very likely was, some reject from the Magic Guild of Vane.

When Iris spoke again, though, Mark's attention riveted itself back to her in disbelief.  "The Sinistrals will bathe both worlds in blood and carnage, destroying all that does not fit with their ideals and making a mockery of all that humanity holds dear.  The only thing that will rise from the ashes in their wake is the stench of blood and death."

But that wasn't what had given Mark and Rose such a shock; rather, it was the way the old doomsayer sank to his knees under Iris' icy tone, bowing so low that his brow scraped the cobblestones underfoot.  "Lady!  My Lady, I am humbled in your awe-inspiring presence!"

For a moment, Iris looked vaguely uncomfortable, even almost frantic.  Then, however, she seized hold of her composure and shoved at his shoulder with a thick-soled leather boot.  "Get up, you old lunatic.  Don't foist your mad delusions on me."  She shoved harder, until she pushed the man back onto his rear, and then turned with a swirl of her black mantle and strode regally out of the already dispersing circle of people.  The old man, his crowd gone the way of his dignity, began to slowly creep away from the storefront he occupied toward the nearest alleyway, and was soon out of sight.

Rose spoke before Mark worked up the gumption.  "What was _that all about?"_

"Nothing," Iris answered curtly, not even sparing the little creature a glance.  "Obviously a case of mistaken identity."

"That wasn't what I meant," Rose answered in reasonable tones that implied just the opposite, "but that's something to discuss later.  I meant the stuff about 'Sinis--'...er, whatevers.  And all that gloom and doom stuff he was preaching."

"The nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind," Iris brushed it off, brusquely walking on toward the harbor at speeds that once again forced Mark almost to jog to keep up with her.  Thankfully, at least for Rose, she wasn't exerting herself, which left her free to continue her interrogation.

"You sure seemed to know a lot about it, yourself.  Just who exactly are you?"

Iris actually slowed again, her gaze going introspective as it lowered to the cobblestones before her, though she didn't stop altogether.  "...sometimes I ask myself the same thing."

Before Rose could press, Mark stopped at a fish-vendor they had just passed, dropped a handful of silver coins onto the oak boards and snatched up a small trout, stuffing it lengthwise into the catlike creature's mouth.  While the leafy green fur along her back bristled at being interrupted, the bribe of fish was enough to silence her for the time being.  "...I don't think the ship is ready yet, Iris," he said quietly, hoping to break the sudden uncharacteristic melancholy that seemed to have overtaken her.

"Nor do I," she replied as she looked about, seemingly back to her old self.  As she began to step forward, Mark caught a flash of gray as a jogging figure with a burlap sack slung over its shoulder, presumably full of fish, shouldered past Iris and continued past him.  Mark, himself, had just stepped aside to let the figure by, though hoped to grab the man's arm to reprimand him for his rudeness--when, in a separate flash of blue, Iris herself caught up and seized him by the wrist.

"Now, Iris, I don't think there's any need to--" Mark began, hoping to forestall another outburst of that frighteningly cold side of his new friend...but something was different about the hard set to her eyes this time, and her next words made him blink in confusion.

"Give it back," she said tersely.  Mark turned to survey the gray-haired man, a nondescript fellow if he'd ever seen one, who lifted his head just slightly from within his bundled scarf and raised his empty hand.  On the finger, Mark realized with a shock, was Iris' onyx ring.

"Tsk, tsk," the gray-haired stranger clucked his tongue, smirking with infuriating superiority, "A lady should be more careful with her valuables in this day and age."  Then his fingers closed into a fist, and suddenly he raised his index and middle fingers, which held between their knuckles a single silvery ball.

He closed them again, and then when he spread all five fingers, there were four such metal balls held between all the gaps.  "Sayonara!" he laughed jubilantly, flinging the lot of them down.  When they struck the boards underfoot, they exploded in a blinding, choking cloud of smoke that left Mark, Iris and even Rose shielding their faces and coughing for air.  When it finally cleared, the thief was apparently gone.  Mark bit his tongue to stifle a vile word he knew Rose would have bit him for, but suddenly Iris raised her hand and pointed at one of the side streets they had just passed with a coughed "There!"; Mark followed with his eyes just in time to see the trailing end of a long, crimson scarf disappearing around the corner.

He wasted no time sprinting after the flash of red, Rose fluttering up off his shoulder as not to be hurled off...but even so, Iris quickly outdistanced him, and soon it was all he could do to keep _her_ in sight.

"After him!" she urged back to him over her shoulder, just before vanishing around the corner so that the next words she called were lost to him.  He groaned wearily, as best he could on the run, but pressed on.  It would have been somewhat less embarrassing without the people who stared at their mad chase--mostly at him as he lagged behind, weighed down by his pack and moreover by his own fatigue, since Iris had insisted they wait and sleep on the ship.

After rounding a second bend, Mark nearly ran into Iris, who had stopped with her fists balled tightly in frustration at the dead-end the street had lead to.  Mark, himself, cast all about but could find no sign of a window or door into which the speedy thief could have ducked.  Just as he was just about to suggest that perhaps the burglar had gotten away, a piercing whistle jerked all three sets of eyes upward.

For the first time, Mark got a good look at this thief.  The man was rail-thin, now that he had shed his fish-seller's guise, almost unrecognizable save for his slicked-back gray hair and dressed in close-cut black clothing that covered him from neck to fingertips to toes, with a sharply contrasting fiery-red scarf bundled thickly about his shoulders and trailing downward.  Somehow or other, he actually seemed to be _clinging to the brick wall, though in the darkness of the upper reaches Mark couldn't quite make out how he was accomplishing this feat._

"You Gaijin are all so slow," the man said, merriment dancing in his rich brown eyes.  In spite of his hair-color, he appeared surprisingly young, perhaps even younger than his two human pursuers.  "But as much as I'd love leading you on a merry chase to the other end of town and back, I have a boat to catch.  So if you'll excuse me..."  Not waiting for a response, the nimble man dropped from the wall he had been impossibly affixed to, his feet landing squarely on a very stunned Mark's shoulders, and using the swordsman as a springboard.  The shove sent Mark toppling right into Iris, bowling the two of them over in a heap as the sounds of footsteps pattered down the cobblestones.

Mark was just struggling to rise and follow, when he suddenly realized that the side of his face had landed on an oddly cushioned part of Iris' anatomy.  He was just in the process of piecing together…exactly what the two soft shapes his head lay between were, when he caught a vague flesh-toned blur sailing toward his face.  Stars danced in his vision, for a brief moment, and then blissful darkness descended.

When the curtain of blackness lifted, the first thing he became aware of was brilliant light lancing into his eyes, forcing them closed again.  While they were still closed, several other realizations struck him--much like the first time he had awakened after losing consciousness under similar involuntary conditions.  The first was that, while nowhere near as yielding as the last place he remembered resting it, his head was quite comfortably settled onto something not unlike a utilitarian pillow, only moderately comfortable but still much better than a rock.  The second was that he was bundled very nearly to his chin in barely-comfortable but suitable bedding, and the third was that the subtle swaying motion he could feel beneath him was not the results of a perceived head-trauma.

"Ngh..." was the most coherent thing he managed to voice at first, but it apparently drew the attention of another occupant of the room, for he dimly heard footsteps on wooden flooring thumping in his direction.  A soft, warm hand settled gently across his brow, smoothing away wisps of scarlet hair.

"You alright?"  It was Iris' voice, soft as the hand with concern.  "You fell and hit your head while we were chasing that thief.  We're on a ship bound for Meribia now."

"Meh...fell...? But...I could have sworn I remembered..."  Dimly, he fought his way through the fog of his memory.  Something that was amiss, some _reason his jaw felt so sore..._

"He got away," Iris continued, derailing his train of thought with painful abruptness that made him flinch involuntarily.  Her touch turned more soothing as it flickered through his hair, and her voice even softer.  "He got on _our boat, and we wasted so much time chasing him that we missed it.  Had to catch another."_

He decided it wasn't worth trying to remember; something told him he probably wouldn't like the answer anyway.  "Where's Rose?"

"Topside.  Said she wanted to catch some sun, oddly enough."

Mark actually found himself smirking despite the ache in his jaw.  "Not odd for her.  Sometimes I swear she's half-Plantella."

"Such an unusual creature."  Iris' hand finally withdrew as he began to push himself up, forcing his bleary eyes to focus.  She was dressed much more casually now, in a loose-fitting sleeveless shirt that hung almost indecently on her slender shoulders, threatening to slip down at more overt movements, and a pair of shorts that looked like a spare pair of trousers that had been torn off at mid-thigh.  Her boots were propped in a corner next to his own, and her sword and shield hung on nails on one wall, next to his own and his chainmail shirt.  That was when the brief draft caught up with him, and he glanced down to realize something was missing.  He jumped, briefly, as he glanced up at her.

"Your clothes were starting to smell," she tossed offhandedly, turning with a tiny smirk on her face to lift something off the small end table next to the hammock he lay in.  "When was the last time you bathed and changed?"  When he continued to stare with wide eyes, she added,  "And don't look at me like that.  I have three brothers; you don't have anything I haven't seen."

"E-Even so--!" he started to stammer, but she cut him off by pressing his pack into his hands.

"You can stop panicking and let your blood-pressure drop, you know.  I let Rose do most of it.  I did have to lift you up to get you in the hammock, though.  I figured you'd prefer me manhandling you to some sailor."  To that, he could offer no real argument.

Instead, he decided to shift the conversation to a less awkward track, even as he began to fish around inside the pack for new clothes.  Thankfully, Iris at least had the decency to turn her back while he threw the bedding off and started to dress.  "So the thief got away?  I'm sorry about your ring, Iris."

"No matter," the warrior-woman said lightly, though he could hear the thwarted frustration in her voice.  "It was just a tool.  I can still accomplish what I need to without it.  But if I ever get my hands on that thief..."

Hearing the beginnings of the icy side of Iris he was coming to fear, at that, he cut her off hastily.  "--we'll get your ring back, or wring the location where he stashed it out of him, and then everything will be fine.  You sure you don't want to try and find him when we get to Meribia?"

"Meribia is a huge city, Mark," Iris said coolly, though thankfully more from her usual aloofness than what he had felt building.  "And his ship got a good half day's lead on this one.  The odds of finding him are somewhere between slim and none, and Slim sadly jumped ship some time ago."

He found himself having to choke back a laugh as he poked his head through the neck-hole of the new shirt, less at the joke itself and more at the image of Iris _making a joke.  "Still, it can't hurt to ask around, right?  The worst that can happen is hearing that nobody's seen him."_

As though sensing his task nearly complete, Iris turned to face him just as he was shoving his arms through the sleeveless tunic's arm-holes.  "Why does it matter so much to you?  It wasn't your ring he stole."  The words weren't harsh and accusing, but rather genuinely curious.

"Well, no," he admitted with a shrug, lounging in the hammock now that he was comfortable enough to fully enjoy it.  "But it was yours, and we're sort of comrades now, aren't we?  Traveling comrades have to look out for each other.  Even if it's something simple, but that ring was obviously something pretty special.  What if he figures out how to use it?  Or sells it to somebody who does?"

"That ring won't work for anybody but me," Iris said distractedly, still favoring him with that odd look, somewhere between curiosity and disbelief.  "But...alright, Mark.  If it means so much to you, we'll ask.  ...thank you."  Her small but genuine smile made the skepticism in her tone bearable.

It wasn't a terribly eventful trip; at the very least, he found himself almost hoping for a sea-monster attack or something, _anything_ to break the monotony of travel by sea.  They arrived in Meribia port without incident, however, and Rose was just as childishly fascinated by the tremendous ships and sprawling streets as on their last pass through.  Iris, herself, was as somber as ever, though she thankfully maintained her more sedate pace as well as she lead him, with Rose perched on his shoulder as usual, through the streets of the most bustling center of commerce on all Lunar.

This time, though, something was different.  The streets didn't seem quite as congested as before; the assortment of beast-race and human merchants, intermingled with the occasional mage from the nearby Magic City, seemed unusually thin for the largest city on the Silver Star.  Small trickles of the populace, however, did seem to be filtering in the direction of the southwestern part of town.  Curious, Mark began to stray as well, but Iris seemed bound and determined for the northernmost city gate.  With a slightly disappointed sigh, he corrected his course as well.  So much for asking around about the ring.

The gate, itself, however, was quite firmly shut, with a spear-wielding footman standing to either side with expressions of frustrated boredom on their faces.  Apparently Mark wasn't the only one disappointed about missing the apparent show.

"What is the meaning of this?" Iris demanded as she came to a stop, hands settling imperiously on her hips and scarlet eyes raking scathingly over each man--both of whom flinched in spite of the fact that each stood a good head taller than her--before returning to the closed gate itself.  "Why is passage into and out of Meribia overland blocked while sea-travel is obviously unrestricted?"

"Don't look at us, your Worshipfulness," one of the two said gruffly, apparently having reminded _himself of the difference in height, build and rank at last.  "We're just doin' our job.  If you wanna know, you better go ask Mr. Ramus.  He's the one who petitioned the Governor to have it done as part of his promotion."_

"That I shall," she replied loftily, turning so that her mantle swirled rather dramatically and fluttered behind her.  Thankfully, she remembered to slow her steps after a moment so he could keep up with her, making for that southwestern region of the city.  Mark, himself hadn't really stopped to explore the city much on his last pass through; he had been too desperate to get Rose _out of the city so she wouldn't keep trying to snatch fish from the fish-sellers, so he had no clue who this Ramus was at all, save that the man's ancestors had been the city's most prominent business folk for millennia._

It wasn't difficult to find the "promotion" the guards had spoken of.  Very nearly a quarter of the city's populace seemed to have gathered in a rough semicircle around the storefront, where Mark's ears could pick out the quite distinct sounds of combat; clashing blades.

Judging from the cheering, jeering and occasional wagering going on, it became apparent that this battle had something to do with the "promotion" in question.  Of course, even stronger evidence to this effect was the portly, bespectacled, mahogany-haired man standing on a short stack of crates with a battered copper megaphone lifted to his mouth, bellowing out phrases like "come one, come all!" and announcing the alleged battle of the century.

Again, as if she had some sort of mystic aura of intimidation that all could feel even when they couldn't see, the crowd slowly parted for Iris as she passed, and Mark hastened to follow before it could close in behind her again.

Just as they cleared the last few lingering spectators and came within sight of the grand empty half-circle in front of the store facade, there was an exultant bark of laughter, and a final clash of steel, followed by a clattering of metal-on-stone as a sword skittered away from its fallen owner's hand.

"Once again, Nicholas the Eight-Stroke Sword stands victorious!" a booming voice bellowed around triumphant laughter.  "Now surrender that sword!"  The man on the ground, battered but not injured, merely groaned and made no move to retrieve the weapon.  As the winner strode to collect his trophy, Mark took a close look at him.

He was a tall man, half a head taller than Mark himself, with copper-hued hair that would have likely fallen to his shoulders, had he not kept it pulled back in a neat and practical tail at the nape of his neck.  He had the square-jawed, broad-shouldered and even barrel-chested build of a seasoned warrior, so large even his breastplate--obviously a piece from the store he was helping to promote--hardly seemed to fit, with piercing blue eyes that betrayed far more cunning and intelligence than was usually credited to a man of his stature.  

Aside from the ill-fitting breastplate and similarly uncomfortable-looking greaves, he wore no armor, his arms bare save for fingerless gloves to protect his palms while gripping his sword, and deep royal-blue trousers tucked into the armor that sheathed his legs below the knee.  Gripped tightly in his broad right fist was a broad hand-and-a-half sword, its blade nearly the width of his palm and almost as thick as his smallest finger.

As the man named Nicholas stooped to take up the dropped sword, his eyes paused at the level of Mark's sword-belt, azure orbs locked on what was unmistakably the hilt nestled in the ill-fitting sheath.  His eyes stayed there as he continued down, closing fingers around the hilt of the relatively mundane sword he had just won as its owner crept away on hands and knees, and using it as a crutch when he straightened, eyes trailing up to the green orbs of the sword's apparent owner.  Mark nearly blanched at the sudden resolve he saw.

Thus it was, before Iris could so much as open her mouth to the man on the crates she seemed about to address, the Eight-Stroke Sword raised his almost thunderous voice once again.  "You there!  Redheaded boy!  Are you man enough to accept Nicholas the Eight-Stroke Sword's challenge?"

Rose seemed about to say something, for the first time since Iris had glared to silence her gushing at the docks earlier, but Mark cut her off before she could utter so much as a syllable.  "What sort of challenge?"

"Ah, now that's the attitude I like to hear, my boy!" the larger man laughed, handing his new trophy off to a verdant-haired girl dressed in a conspicuously skimpy bunny-girl outfit, then resting his own sword's point to the cobblestones and crossing his hands over the pommel.  "The rules are simple, as the crowd has heard any number of times.  I challenge you to a duel, one-on-one, to the disarmament or disabling.  The first man who drops his sword or loses consciousness loses.  If I win, the challenger must surrender his sword to me; if I lose, the winner may select one sword from my collection, and I myself will serve as his personal guard for the period of one year.  Needless to say, I have never lost a battle."

"And to show our sportsmanship," the man with the megaphone added, causing one of Nicholas' eyebrows to twitch, "We'll even allow you an hour's time to select the sword of your choice from our personal assortment here at the Dragonmaster's Cache!  The finest selection of armaments with which even the most unskilled amateurs can stand up to the Eight-Stroke Sword's mesmerizing fury!"  At these last words, Mark faintly heard a few women from the crowd swoon, though Rose and Iris both merely snorted with surprising similarity.

Nicholas cleared his throat faintly, his eyes dipping to the hilt of Althena's Sword again.  "But of course, you hardly look like you need a new sword, my lad.  What say you?  Try that magnificent blade against my Zircon Sword?"  For a moment, the name left Mark somewhat baffled; the blade certainly looked to be made of ordinary enough steel.  Then, however, he realized that there was a faint glittery dusting over the edges, like ground-up glass or crystal somehow forged into the metal.  That would explain it, surely.

Rose hissed an urgent negation into his ear, and Iris looked at him sharply and gave a tiny shake of her head, but Mark ignored them.  Twice already, Iris had wounded his ego, albeit unintentionally--once even in front of a crowd.  He had some measure of dignity to reclaim, and this was the best way he could possibly conceive of to do just that.

"I'll take that challenge," Mark said boldly, stepping into the circle as Rose flapped off his shoulder to settle onto Iris'.  He swung his pack down off his shoulder and offered it to Iris, and with a weary sigh she plucked it out of his hands.  Striding further into the cleared space, Mark slowly slid the Sword of Althena out of his own humble, battered sheath, again feeling more than hearing that distinctive ring of...some indefinably unique quality as the blade sliced through the air.

"I'd hoped for nothing less," Nicholas agreed with a sly grin, spreading his feet to brace himself and taking up a firm-handed grip on his sword, which Mark mimicked at first before drawing his own down and back so that the point very nearly touched the cobblestones behind him.  The green-haired bunny-girl skipped in to hand Nicholas a sturdy-looking shield and strap it to his free arm, and to Mark's surprise Iris supplied his own, before stepping back to the sidelines.

For a long moment there was silence, thick and tense and very nearly tangible.  Then, at some unspoken signal between them, the two men charged, swinging at opposite vectors.  The downward swing of the Zircon-dipped blade met the uppercutting slash of Althena's Sword with a spray of sparks and a flash of light, sending both warriors stumbling back and blinking to clear their eyes.

"Magnificent!  You've passed the first test, my boy; my strongest swing couldn't break your sword.  Now I want it even more!"

Those were the only words spoken, before the two combatants lunged back into the fray.  The man was good...very good.  There was no denying that; Mark would need to use every trick of the trade he had ever learned, as well as a significant measure of luck, if he hoped to win this fight.  But he couldn't back down now; even if he did, it would only mean forfeiting Althena's Sword without a fight.  He had to at least try to defend his ownership of it, as well as his honor as a swordsman.

The crowd was certainly pleased, there was no questioning that, and already spectators who weren't enraptured by the duel or placing and managing wagers were shoving their way through the revolving doors of the Dragonmaster's Cache, eager to get their own hands on the kind of weapons and armor that could endure such a clash of titans.  Mark did his best to tune out the wagering in particular, since none of it was encouraging; apparently this had been going on since early morning with not a single loss to Nicholas' now infamous Zircon blade.

Even when Mark felt his strength beginning to flag, his swings slowing and lessening in power, the larger swordsman seemed hardly winded; and to think, he had been fighting all day, and had only just won a battle before challenging Mark.  This man might well have been more powerful than Iris!  Mark wondered briefly if she would challenge Nicholas if he lost, but decided that even if that were likely--she might insist to get Althena's Sword back, since it was so important to her--he wouldn't allow it.  If he lost, which was seeming increasingly more likely now...no, he couldn't even afford to entertain thoughts like that.  If he couldn't beat this man with the Sword of Althena, then it simply wasn't possible to.

It was rapidly becoming apparent, though, that just because the sword was beautiful and incredibly durable, it didn't transform him into the ultimate warrior or even make him any stronger.  In fact, aside from its perfect balance and heft and that strangely unidentifiable quality, it handled distressingly much like a perfectly mundane broadsword.  And it even made the same sound as the broadsword of earlier, when a final fierce horizontal swing caught the blade above the crossbars and tore it out of Mark's hands, sending it skittering across the cobblestones.

Broken, panting heavily and stricken with disbelief, Mark sank to his knees.  This time it was with a much more solemn air that the mountain of a man strode to take up his trophy, examining the ruby-chips set into the dragon's head on the pommel and the larger stone planted in the hilt.  Then he walked back to where Mark kneeled, laying a hand on his erstwhile opponent's shoulder as he handed off his Zircon Sword to the bunny-girl from before.  "You ran a good fight, my boy, the best I've had all day...but it simply wasn't enough.  No hard feelings, eh?  It's all part of the game."

Numbly, Mark nodded.  He honestly couldn't hold it against the swordsman, not when he hadn't gloated over this victory like the last.  He was the one who had accepted the challenge, after all, knowing the consequences perfectly well.  Still, losing as he did, not only his first real loss to anyone but his teacher but losing such an important treasure as well.  It did worse than just gall him, it humbled him, worse than any of the superhuman feats Iris had performed thus far.

Even for his state, he was a little surprised when Rose flapped over to settle on his shoulder, murmuring condolences rather than berating him with "I-told-you-sos".  Iris was more neutral, not berating him but offering no reassurance either, as she took his shield and hung it from his pack once more.  In fact, she seemed more intent on studying the man who was even now giving Althena's Sword a few experimental passes through the air, marveling at his latest trophy.  Well, he supposed half a loaf was better than none, and more than he deserved after that display of overconfidence.

Wearily, almost lifelessly, he surged to his feet.  Iris was still silent as she distractedly handed him his pack, and even consented to follow him down the street when he tugged at her elbow, finally tearing her eyes away from the man who called himself the Eight-Stroke Sword.

"...I'll get it back," Mark mumbled weakly, eyes downcast as he strode away, "Somehow."

"I know," Iris said softly, and he blinked in surprise as he looked over at her.

"You do?"

She nodded, her expression still blank but her eyes focused intently on his.  "You have to.  The sword chose you.  You have to prove worthy of it."

For a long moment, all he could do was stare at her in blank silence.  Then, he took in a deep breath, then let it out helplessly.  "But how?  Althena's Sword didn't do me any good.  I might as well have held a blunt metal rod."

Iris slowly shook her head, and this time her hand move to guide him by the arm as she lead him toward the dock.  "Althena's Sword is like any other sword, only more so.  And a sword is like any other tool.  It only produces as much as you put into it.  It's the wielder and not the sword that makes the true difference, in any battle.  I could do all the same things with that Zircon Sword he had, that I can do with my own personal weapon."

"So Althena's Sword is just a fancy-looking lump of iron?"

Iris fixed him with a harsh, narrow-eyed glare and he flinched.  "Sorry."

"Althena's Sword resonates with the spirit of its wielder," Iris explained patiently.  "Humans and humanoids, especially fighting men--and women, of course--they...well, they radiate Waves, Waves of power.  The stronger the human's fighting spirit, the stronger the Waves they radiate.  Althena's Sword has the power to amplify those waves, somewhat; matched with its mate sword, they can magnify a human's fighting spirit up to a hundredfold."

"Then the reason I lost..." he began, dismally.

"--is because your fighting spirit is too weak, right now.  Even without Althena's Sword, you have the power to beat him--to defeat _any human opponent--if you only strengthen your fighting spirit."_

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Mark countered, disinterested.

"...why don't you have Iris train you?" Rose asked meekly, after her surprisingly extended period of silence.

"I thought you didn't trust her," he protested, surprised.  Rose had never made any secret of her opinion of their travel-mate after the initial gratitude for finding him unconscious, which was why he spoke it so boldly aloud.

"I don't," Rose answered candidly, looking past him to the girl in question.  "But there's no denying her power.  If anybody can help you to beat that guy, she can.  Besides, it's in her best interest too; she's the one who really needs us to get it back."

Iris stood still and silent as Mark turned to face her; obviously she wasn't volunteering anything, though her face was still neutral.  He sighed, wearily.

"Iris...will you teach me?"

Solemnly, she nodded--almost bowed, even.  "I will.  Come."  Taking hold of his wrist, she began to lead him on toward the docks, rounding bends and stacks of crates, finally slowing to a stop in a relatively clear region nearly surrounded by towering walls of crates.  She lowered both their packs to the boards underfoot, while Rose hummed her soft tune to restore his spent strength and heal his lesser bruises.

When the preparations were made, Iris offered him his old sword and shield, before taking up her own.  With a firm, decisive nod on her part, the lessons began, Rose sneaking off to the sidelines and poking at crates to see if she could catch any loose fish.

The first day alone was grueling, and Mark was only able to last the entire day thanks to Rose and her healing powers...but even so, the only reason he conceded to stop was because both of them repeatedly assured him that this promotion was sure to go on for days, especially after the show he had put on and the customers it had drawn.

Still, with each passing day he spent training with Iris, accumulating bumps and bruises and no real improvement as far as he could tell (he still hadn't even been able to come close to Iris, let alone tag her with the flat of his blade), he felt himself more and more galled by the waiting, and more and more frustrated and frantically afraid Nicholas the Eight-Stroke Sword would take his challenge out of town or even overseas before Mark was ready.

It was the fourth day after his ignominious loss, however, that Iris pronounced him ready to face his adversary again.  There was only one thing she had taught him that he felt was particularly different from what he had done before, but she and even Rose seemed adamant that there had been an astonishing improvement for such a short period of time, even doing nothing but train between eating and healing and sleeping at the inn.

Since it was the second time they had agreed on anything since they had known each other, he didn't have the heart to disagree.  So he let Iris and Rose lead him back toward the store facade of the Dragonmaster's Cache, both their capes fluttering behind them, where the fat little bespectacled man was just announcing yet another victory for his mighty champion, and today's bunny-girl--a sweet little number with short cobalt-blue hair--was just retrieving a towel and canteen of water from the victor.

Exactly as before, the crowd parted for Iris, and exactly as before, Nicholas the Eight-Stroke Sword looked up at his challenger as his attendant took his latest trophy aside for him.  This time, though, his expression was a touch disbelieving.  "Back for more, son?  Well, I can't fault your persistence, but it's only been three days.  You sure you're ready for another round?"

The crowd practically answered for him; many of the spectators were the same that had been there the past several days, and after their last struggle, a heated grudge match was just the thing they were looking forward to.  Nevertheless, Mark spoke for himself.

"I'm not going to lose this time," he said boldly, confidence he hadn't felt before surging through him at both Rose's and even Iris' unexpected encouragement, and the crowd's own enthusiasm.  He wasn't sure why, exactly; he simply felt as though there were only something he had missed, before, something simple that he could have used to defeat his opponent, but had merely overlooked.

"Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen?" the rotund man with the megaphone asked eagerly, nearly falling off his crates in his own enthusiasm.  "Sounds like we have a heated rematch in the making!  Place your wagers now, dear spectators!  It looks like we may have the tussle of the century brewing!"

As bets were placed, either monetary or simply in jest, the two warriors stepped into the circle and readied their swords and shields, Nicholas wielding his Zircon Sword once again and Mark carrying his old steel blade.  Years old, it was still a sturdy weapon that had served him well, which was why he hadn't been able to bear parting with it even after acquiring the magnificent Sword of Althena; now he found himself glad for his sentimentality, as it prevented him from having to drop money on a new and unfamiliar weapon for this important challenge.

The two challengers squared off, shields strapped to their arms and swords steady in their hands, eyes of azure and emerald meeting over the rims of steel shields.  As three days before, there was a long, tense moment of silence, this time laced with the building anticipation of the crowd.  They knew they were about to see something epic, and neither warrior had any intention to disappoint.

This time, Mark was ready when the first charge came; apparently Nicholas the Eight-Stroke Sword was planning to "test" Mark's new sword just the same as before.  This time, though he charged as well, Mark didn't meet the challenge; it was headstrong and foolhardy cocksureness that had gotten him into this mess.  This time he was going to play it cautious.

Thus, when Mark lightly spun to one side out of his own charge and flashed out with his sword at one of Nicholas' greaves, the larger man scarcely seemed to know what had hit him.  Steel rang soundly off of steel, the swing meant not to cut flesh but to deliberately strike the armor plating--and the force of it threw the man known as the Eight-Stroke Sword's equilibrium off.  He caught himself on his other foot, but it took a comically exaggerated hop-step before he could regain his footing and turn, by which time Mark himself had the time to prepare for his next trick.  A swing of the Zircon Sword, more a probe than an intended attack, was rained down on his shield and was brushed aside, but rather than counter with a swing of his own, Mark kept the shield held before him.

The defensive tactic was new, and one he hadn't tried before simply because against a behemoth of this size, he simply didn't have the endurance to last.  And Nicholas knew that quite well, indeed, for the larger swordsman continued to rain blow after blow down on Mark's suffering shield, all enthusiastically accompanied by a running commentary from the announcer on the crates.  Still, Mark endured, waiting for his opening.

Then, at last, it came.  Knowing his opponent was smaller and weaker, and simply unable to withstand an all out assault of brute force, Nicholas raised his massive arms over his head, prepared to bring his sword down with all his might and reduce the shield to an utter ruin.  During the furious assault, though, Mark had been busily loosening the strap that held his shield to his arm, readying himself for just this moment.  When the sword swing came, it did indeed crumple the scarlet-painted shield like an insect carapace under a heavy boot.

But even as it folded and buckled under with a shriek of tortured metal, Nicholas realized his mistake--for Mark was not standing behind it, having released his hold and lightly tossed it up as he danced aside.  And with the Eight-Stroke Sword still half-bent from his own brutal swing, they both knew the fight was over even before the final attack.

"Hope you like this; I've been itching to try it!"

Nicholas struggled to rise and defend himself, but it was far too late.  Mark's charge continued, his boots actually racing up the flat of the Zircon Sword's blade, one using the upraised shield as a springboard as he launched himself up.  The motion flipped him upside-down in midair before gravity reasserted itself and began to drag him down, sword parallel to the horizon as he held it at a right-angle from his body.  Though the Eight-Stroke Sword lifted his weapon in time to meet the clash, the combination of gravity and all Mark's own not-inconsiderable strength behind the blow made the outcome academic.  Steel exploded in a spray of white-hot sparks and shards of metal, as people gasped and some even cheered.

As Mark passed, one of his hands left the hilt of his sword to stretch below him, hand-planting off the cobblestones and vaulting to land in a half-crouch with his back to his enemy, scarlet cape settling around his shoulders and pooling on the stones behind him.  His eyes went wide with chagrin, though, as he looked down to his sword hilt and realized that _his sword was the one that had broken._

After a long moment of shocked silence, he nearly sank to his knees again, when the complete and utter silence of the crowd suddenly struck him as odd.  Rising to his feet, he slowly stood and turned.  Just as wide-eyed with shock as he had been a moment ago, the man called Nicholas the Eight-Stroke Sword was gazing down at the hilt of his Zircon Sword.

The blade lay in pieces at his feet, some of them still glowing red.

Slowly, a single pair of hands brought itself together somewhere in the crowd, breaking the almost palpable silence with as much force as the two shattered swords.  More applause followed, gradually like a building avalanche, and soon the entire crowd was roaring its approval, as two swordsmen, one red-eyed warrior woman and one flying cat-creature gazed in shocked silence.

It was a heavy hand on his shoulder that shook Mark out of his own state of shock, and he looked up into the astounded but oddly pleased eyes of his erstwhile opponent.

"That was marvelous!  Absolutely ingenious!" the man blurted, hand still clamped onto Mark's shoulder in a vice-like grip as his other, now empty of the discarded sword hilt, pumped Mark's empty hand like a used-nag-salesman who had just made employee of the millennium.

"Wha? Bu-But..."  Mark was still having a little trouble coordinating his thoughts.  His sword was broken!  He had lost!

"No man has ever managed to break my sword!" Nicholas explained, as though it should be obvious.  "Not in over ten years!  That was a brilliant bit of trickery and a fine show of strength, besides!  You've won, my boy; you've bested me!  _Me!"_

"But my sword's broken too...!" Mark protested, still somewhat out of sorts even as Iris plucked his broken sword's hilt out of his hand and Rose settled to his shoulder and began smoothing his hair back with almost motherly paws.

"It doesn't matter.  The point is that you broke _mine as well," the taller man insisted, crossing his arms firmly across his too-small breastplate.  "That was my sword, custom forged to be unbreakable, and yet somehow you managed with a mere sword of steel.  I'd like to know how you managed a feat like that; there obviously weren't any enchantments on that blade."_

"I'd like to know, myself..." Mark muttered, but Iris seemed strangely self-satisfied--and at the same time, almost unnerved.  It was an odd combination of expressions, one he hadn't thought possible on a human face.

"Well, it doesn't matter.  Come, lad, choose your sword.  You've earned it."

This time, at least, Mark finally managed to regain some control of his faculties.  "I already know which one I want."  The last thing he needed was some temptation to forego Althena's Sword in the face of some finer-looking blade; though he didn't see how that was possible, he didn't want to take the chance.

"Ah, of course, I might have known," Nicholas said knowingly, smirking.  "You want your treasure back, don't you?  Can't say I blame you, though it pains me to part with her so soon.  S' just as well, though; every time I tried to use her she nearly shook herself out of my hand."  Finally releasing Mark's shoulder, the bigger man strode off toward the store facade where a long line of oblong objects stood propped against it, presumably the swords of defeated challengers.  He plucked up one from somewhere around the middle, and slowly walked back toward them.

It was with an odd sense of relief that Mark closed his fingers around the grip of Althena's Sword again, as though it were a dear friend he had been parted from and was now being reunited with.  He nodded his gratitude to the larger swordsman and began to turn.

"This should be interesting," he heard the man's voice continuing from behind him.  "Give me a moment while I pick out a sword.  I'll miss my Zirc', but it was a fair match."

"What?" Mark asked, bewildered, as he turned when Iris did to face the man once more.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten the other part of the victory conditions, lad.  For the duration of a full year, I'll be serving as your personal guard.  I daresay you probably won't need it_ much_, since it looks like you already have a fine compliment to your skills, but two blades are always better than one, hm?"

"But...you don't even know where we're going," Mark protested, glancing to Iris for help or confirmation.  She only shrugged, giving an offhanded gesture he translated as unhelpful at best.

"Doesn't really matter much, does it?  Come on, now, you knew the conditions when you challenged me.  Don't tell me you don't need my sword for _anything._

Well...the Blue Star _was a dangerous place--even Lunar could be, at times--and..._

"Alright.  Welcome aboard, er, Sir Nicholas."

"Enough with the 'sir' stuff," the Eight-Stroke Sword protested with a hearty laugh.  "Call me Nick.  We're comrades now, aren't we?"

"Then you can call me 'Mark', not 'boy'," Mark retorted with a genuine laugh of his own, sliding Althena's Sword into his sheath.  "C'mon; we'll finish introductions at the inn, alright?  It'll be at least tomorrow before they open the town gates, I think."

The fat man with the megaphone was too busy ushering bewildered but enthusiastic patrons into his store to even realize they were gone, though he did think to take up the two broken swords and enshrine them in a glass case as a memorial to his little promotion.  If only Great Grandpa Ramus could have seen him now…


	4. Gades

Gades

"So let me get this straight," Nick said, thumb contemplatively scratching the stubble on his chin as he sat at the foot of the bed in his room--in which they had all gathered since it was the largest the inn had to offer, courtesy of Ramus--and peered at them each in turn.  "You're a talking green cat with wings," he pointed at Rose, who turned up her nose in affront at the very notion--nothing new.  "You're a swordsman from the Blue Star," this time the finger moved to Mark, on whose shoulder Rose was lightly perched, "who somehow managed to pull Althena's Sword out of old Dyne's Monument."  Then the finger moved to Iris.  "And you're who?"

"Just a traveler with a...personal interest in ancient relics," Iris tossed offhandedly, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in her chair.  Nick nodded subtly, though Mark could tell he was as skeptical as Rose.  He couldn't for the life of them understand why they were both so distrusting.  Iris had done nothing but help him so far, even if her help sometimes took almost frightening methods.

"And the three of you are going to the Star Dragon Tower so you can fetch _another ancient sword from the Blue Star?"_

All three nodded, but Mark also felt the need to add, "Yeah, that pretty much covers it.  Still wanna come?"

"Are you kidding?"  Nick barked a rather satisfied laugh, easing back to lean on his palms and smirking back.  "I've heard legends of the strong monsters that came out of eons of hibernation when the Blue Star thawed.  I'd give half my sword collection for a shot at just one, but unfortunately they don't take collateral at the Star Dragon Tower and I've never been able to afford the civilians' entrance fee.  If you've still got a round trip booked, I can hardly refuse."

Again, Mark cast a brief glance at Iris, though this time for a different purpose.  As before, she shrugged, waving the question off.  Obviously it didn't matter to her one way or another; big surprise.  Turning back to Nick, he nodded.  "Sure.  Another sword is always welcome.  Glad to have you, Nick."

They had just reached out their right hands and clasped forearms, an old form of warrior's salute to seal the bargain--when the building shook, the ear-rending force of an explosion very nearly shattering the room's single window and sending Iris off balance just as she was rising to her feet herself.  Thankfully--in more ways than one--she toppled right into Mark's shoulder, and he lifted his free arm to steady her carefully as he looked toward the window in confusion.

"Wh-What the heck was _that?!" Rose stammered out, scrabbling frantically at Mark's cape to maintain her perch.  Iris regained her feet, and Mark and Nick released each other's hands as all three rushed to the window._

They arrived just in time for another explosion, much more violent, to throw them all off their feet as it truly _did_ shatter the window this time.  Rose was the first to recover, flapping up into the air before she could even hit the floorboards and moving to hover cautiously before the window.  She let out a little squeak that was somewhere between a gasp and a yelp, whirling toward her fallen human companions and stuttering incoherently.

Second, unsurprisingly, was Iris, who gently plucked the cat-like creature out of the air and cradled her close against her chest, fingers stroking soothingly between the green fur of her ears as she watched the scene outside impassively.

Mark and Nick rose at nearly the same time, and when they arrived, their expressions were of similar shock.

Inexplicably, there was only a single man forging his way out of the smoking crater that had once been the town square; the only thing remaining of it now was a single island of land in the center, with the statue of Althena cradling a crescent moon in loving arms barely scorched in the very center.  But it wasn't even the sheer size of the man--easily twice Nick's in all dimensions--that left them so slack-jawed.

It was the sheer aura that pervaded the air around him, shimmering so that it even distorted the air like heat-waves.  Every fall of his feet, sheathed in midnight-blue greaves that matched the rest of his inconceivably huge plate mail, left a smoking divot in the cobblestones underfoot, and even his magenta-lined midnight-blue cape seemed to sizzle and hiss like a bonfire under a light drizzle.  The distorted air around him seemed to pulse faintly reddish, periodically, flickering skyward in streamers that peeled off from the rest like smoke.

His long hair was flaming crimson, and even wilder than Mark's, a match for the mad crimson eyes at whose corners the crow's feet hinted not at age, but at a face that had seldom worn other than a glare or scowl.  Clutched in one massive hand was an equally massive sword, its blade very nearly as wide as one of Nick's arms and almost four feet in length, with crossbars that forked aggressively forward like many-pronged antlers or horns.  Buckled to his opposite arm was a shield the same hue as his midnight-blue armor, the crest emblazoned upon it depicting a scene that somehow conveyed the ultimate in annihilation, though the picture itself was impossible to describe in words.  Both sword and shield radiated the same aura of palpable menace as their owner, and when the sword's point scraped the cobblestones as it swayed with his steps, it effortlessly left small trenches in the street.

"Gades..." was the only word Iris whispered, and for some reason it sent a shudder through all three of her companions, though the name was unfamiliar to any of them.

Even as they watched, a trio of city guards came rushing from the direction in which the man walked, his destination out of sight of the inn's second-floor window.  Even as they clanked to a stop and hefted their spears, however, their armor began to rattle as they trembled visibly.

Gades didn't even have to move.  He merely stood his ground and watched with cold, silent fury, as the three men crumpled to the ground as though under the very force of his glare.  Then, without so much as a gesture, another terrible wave of destructive force shook the foundations of the inn--and this time they knew, this strange destructive force was part of the aura that radiated from the giant's very body, a sheer wave of destruction that spread out from his massive frame and created another small crater under his feet.

There was nothing left of the three guardsmen, not even their conical helmets.

Mark and Nick didn't even have to exchange a glance; they were already on their way to the door, snatching up swords and shields from either side of it.  Nick made for a moment as though to reach for his own armor as well, but then seemed to think better of it; there simply wasn't time.  The ill-fitting armor Ramus had supplied would have to do.  Thankfully, the rotund little man Mark had taken for a mere announcer had also been magnanimous--and grateful for his boosted sales--enough to supply a new shield for Mark and a chainmail shirt for Iris free of charge, as well as covering all their inn fees for the duration of their stay.

"What are you two _doing?!" Rose demanded from Iris' arms, echoed surprisingly enough by the woman herself in an uncharacteristic burst of vehemence._

"Somebody's gotta try and stop him," Mark tossed over his shoulder even as he followed Nick out the door, sliding Althena's Sword briefly out of its sheath and back in to ascertain that it was clear and unobstructed.  "Whoever he is, he can't be up to anything good.  And we can't just let him trash Meribia!"

"Are you blind?" Iris demanded, even as she released Rose into the air to snatch up her own chainmail shirt and tug it down over her tunic, before snatching up her own cape and sword and shield and moving to follow.  Rose floated in place, gawking for a moment, before hastening to flap after the three.  "Didn't you see how he just decimated those helpless guardsmen?"

"Gotta try, right?"  It was Nick who answered this time, adjusting his grip on his new hand-and-a-half sword.  It was no Zircon Sword, but it was a good blade of similar make.  Mark faintly heard Iris groan in exasperation from behind, but she continued to follow, too.  Good, that might mean they had half a chance.  He pushed the kernel of worry to the back of his mind, reminding himself that Iris was the most powerful warrior he had ever laid eyes on before; he had more to worry about for himself than for her.

It wasn't hard to follow Gades, even though he had moved out of sight by the time they got down the stairs and out of the inn; the screams and the plumes of smoke, and the trail of bodies, made it difficult _not_ to know where he had gone.

"The governor's manor," Nick breathed once he had picked out the general direction of the carnage.  Narrowing his eyes, he bolstered his speed, forcing Mark to push himself to keep up, while Iris actually seemed to be holding back.  Why _now, of all times?  Did she actually...doubt she could beat him without them?  That wasn't reassuring._

At the sound of their boot falls on the warm cobblestones, Gades slowly turned, his long, sweeping mantle billowing about his shoulders before it settled down again.  His eyes focused on each of them in turn, almost speculative; giving them a more thorough survey than he had the city guardsmen, it seemed.  His gaze lingered particularly on Iris, and Mark fought the urge to step in front of her.  She could take care of herself...

"I don't know who you think you are," Mark spoke first, when it seemed nothing was forthcoming from any of his three companions, "but nothing gives you the right to...to just..."  He found himself at a loss for words, unable to find broad enough terms to cover the sheer scale of such pointless, thoughtless destruction.

"Destroy everything?" the man asked in a rumbling, echoing boom of a voice, like a volcano preparing to blow its top.  "Your very existence gives me the right to destroy you.  Your only purpose on this world is to eke out a meager existence until I find the time in my busy schedule to destroy you."  He lifted his sword up, raising it skyward in triumph, even as his fiery red eyes locked themselves onto Mark's piercing green ones.  "I am Gades, Sinistral of Destruction.  Tremble, boy, as you gaze upon the face of your end."

"Sinistral...?!" Rose blurted, almost startling Mark into jumping since he had nearly forgotten she was there.  "_You're one of those Sinistrals the old man was talking about?!"_

_That_ was why the word had seemed so familiar!  Mark could scarcely believe he had forgotten, but to be honest he had pushed the old doomsayer's words out of his mind about the time the theft of Iris' ring had taken place.  If what the geezer had been saying was true, this was no mere man backed by magical might, but something very close to a God.  Still, he couldn't let that deter him, not at this point.  

"Whoever you are, this ends now!"  Nick, apparently, held similar sentiments, as he raised his sword to point imperiously at the fiery walking implement of destruction.  Granted, he hadn't heard the mad old prophet's speech, but he had definitely seen the sheer scope of this Sinistral's power.  "We won't allow you to go another step or harm another innocent."

"And you poor _humans are going to stop me?"  Gades very nearly laughed; he couldn't quite keep a sneer off his face, at least, though there was still something like a flicker of uncertainty when his eyes caught Iris' briefly.  Iris, herself, said nothing, but she stepped forward and raised her sword to point as well, and Mark himself finally followed through with the Sword of Althena.  At this gesture, the Sinistral's amusement returned, and he shifted from his casual posture to one of battle-readiness, hefting his shield and drawing back his sword in preparation for a swing._

"Let's go!"  Mark took point as he shouted, charging forward with his own blade drawn behind him, Nick following at his side, the two leaving a gap between them as they heard Iris beginning to chant in echoing tones.

Mark's slash was met by the Sinistral's upraised shield; Nick's by the titantic sword in his other hand.  The force of each impact released a small burst of destructive force, flinging both warriors back even as a bolt of searing lightning crackled through the space that had been between them, impacting against the dead center of Gades' deep blue-black breastplate.  The Sinistral didn't even flinch and his armor was untouched; Iris' spell hadn't even managed to penetrate the aura of power around the battle-God's body, any more than Mark or Nick's swords had.  Even Althena's Sword hadn't so much as scratched the shield's paint.

Mark was the first back on his feet, Nick using his sword as a crutch while his younger counterpart rushed in to cover for him, to prevent Gades from cutting him down unprepared.  The Sinistral swung, a mighty tree-chopping horizontal motion of his sword, but his smaller opponent was off the ground before it could connect.  Coming down on the flat of the blade, which was nearly as wide as a small log, Mark jogged up the length of it and even as far as Gades' forearm, lashing out with one thick-soled boot for a kick at the Sinistral's jaw.

It was like kicking one of Meribia's massive gates, and he was so shaken that before he could vault clear, he felt the painful blow of Gades' massive shield slam into his side, toppling him to the ground.  He two sets of boot steps, likely both Nick and Iris, rushing forward--but before they could arrive, another wave of destructive force released itself from the Sinistral's very body.

Mark didn't even have time to scream before blackness descended upon him once again, in a distressingly familiar manner.  The last thing he heard was Gades' mocking laughter, and he dimly found himself hoping Rose had managed to fly clear of that last blast before conscious thought fled him...

That he woke up at all came as the greatest shock Mark had felt in some time, after the initial fog of bleary unconsciousness burned itself off the fringes of his mind.  He ached all over, as though billions of tiny Nipple Yankers and other related imps had just spend the last two days working him over from head to toe.  With proportionately sized sledgehammers.

He heard the distant sound of something like liquid being wrung out of cloth, and the consequent sound of drizzling water, before something warm and damp was laid across his brow.  He tried to force his eyes open, only for the force of the sudden light to lance through his head and redouble the pain there.

"Shh," a soft voice soothed, fingers leaving the cloth over his brow and moving to slip back into his hair.  "You're alright.  You're alive."  He thought he heard a tinge of relief in that.

"Prove it," he groaned quietly, surprised he was able to make any sound at all come out past his parched throat and dry lips.  This earned soft, if rueful laughter.  "Nick is out taking Rose to tend to the wounded and injured, along with the other healers.  He and I weren't as close to the blast as you; you got the worst of it."

For a moment, he struggled to remember just who exactly Nick and Rose were--and for that matter, who the voice over him belonged to.  At last, however, the fog lifted completely from his brain with a suddenness that brought the urgency of the frantic battle back to him with full force.  He tried to fling himself to sit up, and regretted it instantly, sinking back down to...whatever he was lying on...with an aching groan.

"Now perhaps you'll stay down," Iris' reproving voice admonished, before her fingers moved back to his hair.

"Wh-what happened...?  Where's Gades?  What about Meribia...?"

Iris' voice turned sad, then, and Mark's heart sank.  "By the time we woke up, it was too late.  He didn't kill...everybody...but the town's in shambles."  Mark sighed, echoed by Iris herself, and resisted the urge to slam his sore fist into something.  "The only things that were barely touched with Ramus' store, the Statue of Althena and the governor's manor, and those were only thanks to last-minute spells from poor, brave mages from Vane.  Sadly, most of them weren't able to stand inside their own shields.  I don't know why Gades left without breaking down the shields, or where he went."

"Why?" Mark asked weakly, his voice a hoarse croak.  Before Iris could misinterpret, he clarified as best he could.  "Why...did he do all this?  What purpose did it serve?  These people never did anything...Lunar's never been a warlike world..."

"Gades destroys for the sake of destroying," Iris explained in a tragically knowing tone.  "The very purpose of his existence is to bring destruction to everything around him.  That is the existence of a Sinistral."

"Meribia is...was...the largest city on all of Lunar," Mark whispered, almost brokenly.  Losing Althena's Sword to Nick had been one thing.  But this...this was a more painful blow than anything he had ever felt before.  A crushing defeat that had cost not only him or even Iris, but the lives and livelihoods of countless people.  Granted, the fact that the three most important structures--and one of them the most sacred--in town had been spared was small consolation.  But that didn't bring back lives, or undo the damage that had been done.  "If just one of these...Sinistrals...can do this..."

"Shh," she urged again, this time laying a finger to his lips.  "Mark, I had hoped to finish our mission before it came to this.  ...this is _why I want to find the second sword, Mark.  Althena's Sword and its companion...with those, we could _defeat_ the Sinistrals.  Do you understand?  If you could claim the Dual Blade..."_

"...Dual Blade?" he asked suddenly, sharply, forcing his eyes open in spite of the pain to seek out Iris' eyes.  Defeating Gades...if anything could help him to do that, to prevent another catastrophe like this from ever happening again...

"No, nothing."  She shook her head, lifting the cloth from his brow and dipping it at the bowl of water next to her again.  From the looks of things, they were once again in the inn, his own room this time, but for some reason it was far too bright.  A glance up from her explained that; the roof had been completely blown off, letting searing sunlight in.  "Mark, please...you can't give up on me now.  Please.  We need that sword.  If we can just get to the Blue Star and get that sword..."

For the first time since he had known her, Iris sounded almost near tears.  The sound, and the sight of tiny droplets of moisture curling beneath frantic eyelids, prompted him to lift his aching hand to rest on the back of hers.  "I know.  I'll go."  To emphasize his point, he tried to push himself up again, but it was no use.  He simply couldn't move without streamers of white-hot fire following the paths of what felt like every fiber of his being, causing his own eyes to water with pain.

Gently, Iris pushed him back down, though her smile made the pain worth bearing.  "Not today, Mark.  There's time.  Rest, first.  Heal.  You can't do anything in your current state but make yourself worse."

He tried to protest, but if he hadn't seen her use Magic-Guild spells he would have sworn she knew a little holy magic of Althena, for something in her touch and her voice made his eyelids suddenly feel like lead weights, his lethargy increase tenfold.  Once again, peaceful sleep claimed him, this time under much more pleasant circumstances.

It was a hard few days of recuperating for everyone in town, with very few roofs left on any building in town, out of the few structures that were standing at all.  Survivors of the disaster spent the time either burying and grieving the dead, or struggling to help rebuild the city, or sometimes a bit of both.  Rose made rounds with the other emissaries from the great Church of Althena to heal what she could, guided by Nick, while Iris spent most of her time tending Mark with Rose out and about.

There wasn't much more Rose could do for Mark himself; she had healed all his external wounds, but the returning strength her healing powers lent was largely illusory, an immediate flood of artificial strength for the heat of battle and not true recuperation.

It was a full week before Mark felt up close to his full strength again, and while he wished nothing more than to stay and help rebuild--feeling somewhat responsible for having failed to stop Gades--but Iris reminded him rather forcibly that the best way to help them and the rest of Lunar's people was to get to the Blue Star as quickly as possible; that at their current level of strength it was painfully obvious that they couldn't even stand up to Gades, the weakest of Sinistrals, on equal terms.  Mark had shuddered to learn that Gades was the _weakest_ of the lot, of whom Iris claimed there were four.  She would go into no further detail than that, however, nor explain how she knew what she did about them when nobody else on Lunar save one old prophet had ever heard of them.

Mark supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when Nick ardently refused to abandon his own decision to accompany them, and privately was rather relieved.  It was self evident by now that they would be needing all the help they could get, if even Iris couldn't stand up to Gades.  Even Rose no longer questioned the urgency of reaching the Blue Star, though she still wasn't entirely pleased by Iris' lack of answers.

As much as they had all chafed at the delay, though, they still tried to do what little they could before leaving--along with an almost steady migration of others, refugees who preferred to move to a potentially safer city; perhaps a place no maniacal superhumans had even heard of, or perhaps the protection of Vane itself--though at last it was Ramus himself who ushered them along on their way.  He thanked them on behalf of the townsfolk, as did the also present governor, but pointed out that it was the duty of the city officials and not of civilians, no matter how dedicated and helpful, to deal with the present crisis.  It was a heavy-hearted, and yet at the same time somewhat grateful quartet that set off overland by foot, bearing northeasterly toward the foreboding shadow of Taben's Peak.

Taben's Peak was a geographical oddity on the face of Lunar.  It had no foothills, and rose out of a stark forest, though while it was sheathed in shrubbery and ivy, not a single tree grew on its actual surface.  Odder still was the structure of the thing alone, as though someone had built an artificial mountain out of steel and armor plating and left it millennia ago to grow into a natural landmark.  Whatever its origins, however, the band of travelers had no business upon its lofty green-shod steel heights, and the road passing it was clear and even unguarded.  Thus, they passed without incident, making camp in its shadow as the sun set, within sight of both the distinctive peak and the outskirts of the Magic City of Vane.

Seated on a high plateau that, legend held, had once circled the skies over the Goddess Tower that had once rested scant kilometers away, the city proper was inaccessible short of flight or magical transport.  However, around the base of the plateau, small-town suburbs had been constructed, begun initially by merchants taking advantage of the magic circle used for transport into the upper city and the traffic it generated.

Oddly enough, this time it was Iris who announced a layover in Vane, prompting curious glances from all three of her companions but more or less ignoring them as usual.  By this point, they knew better than to argue with her or ask questions--and besides, she was already beginning to walk in that direction the next morning after they gathered up camp and set off.  Exchanging wary glances, the two swordsmen and the flying feline gave a collective shrug and proceeded to follow.

The lower city was much like many of the more rural villages Mark had seen on either Lunar or the Blue Star in his life.  It was a quaint little village, and all the more pleasant for the peaceful, lighthearted atmosphere after the dreary, smoldering wreck that was Meribia.  There were a few refugees from the former premier city of the Silver Star, but even they seemed to have at least a significant veneer of good cheer over their sorrow and pain.

Iris seemed to have no real direction or destination as she lead them through the city, seemingly choosing streets and storefronts to stop before at random.  She never let them stop long enough to really rest, nor to even get a good look at the things on display in any of the windows.  It was almost as though she were looking for someone, at a series of agreed-upon meeting points.

For a moment, this seemed to be confirmed when a sharp, imperious female voice that did not belong to Iris rang clearly through the air of one of the less public locales, a miniature magic-shop storefront set in an out-of-the-way alley less than a block away from the Magic Circle.  "You!  So I've found you at last."

Aside from the fact that even Iris seemed somewhat startled by the sudden sound, the fact that the next words were clearly directed at Mark quite blatantly shot down that theory.  "I already heard that a redheaded man is responsible for laying our neighbor city of Meribia to waste," the voice continued, in tones of infuriating superiority.  "You underestimate the network of information at the Magic Guild of Vane, monster, and as representative of the Premier and Head Enforcer of Magical Law at the Magic Guild, I, Theresa Ausa, do hereby place you under arrest!"

_You have to be kidding me..._ Mark groaned inwardly, slowly turning along with his companions to face the speaker.  There was something vaguely familiar about the name "Ausa", but that fled his mind instantly the minute he laid eyes upon the speaker.

The most immediately obvious feature about her was that she wasn't human.  She _looked_ human for the most part, but subtle characteristics betrayed her.  Long, high, sharply-pointed ears, a single ivory-hued hook of a horn set just above and between her eyes, and tapered stripes of subtly darker-colored skin running the soft curve from the base of her lightly-tanned jaw to just barely touch the slightly prominent cheekbones under each eye.  Her eyes, themselves, were a brilliant and vibrant violet, peppered with tiny flecks of green, and her long, silky-looking curtain of hair was the same deep purple shade, cascading down the behind her back and the knee-length emerald cape she wore.  She would have been truly beautiful, if not for the smug, superior smirk scrawled across her visage.

The cape billowed open in the breeze that whistled through the alleyway, exposing the clothing--such as it was--that she wore beneath it.  A Single, one-piece violet-and-emerald leotard covered her from ample bosom to the base of each leg, leaving her arms, shoulders and legs largely bare.  On her feet, reaching as high as the shins, she wore sleek black combat-worthy boots, and on her forearms were glossy black metal bands, each with three long ridges running the length of them along the backs of her arms.  Dangling from each pointy ear was a loop surmounted with a faceted emerald, and looped around the base of her horn was a gilded ring set with four small emeralds at evenly spaced intervals.  Finally, completing the ensemble was a close-fit choker of tiny gilded chain, with two lengths dangling in a V, that held a final emerald stone nestled gently into her generous cleavage.

If she wasn't dressed to kill, she was certainly dressed to tempt.

After the initial shock--and subsequent staring of the males, which required all three females present to repeatedly clear their throats for attention--the sheer absurdity of the matter  reasserted itself to Mark's brain.  He narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, but a single hard look from Iris silenced him.  What was this all about?

For the briefest of moments, Theresa Ausa looked briefly unsettled, as though she had been expecting an argument and had already mentally prepared her response.  Upon gathering her wits, however, she cleared her throat and spoke again, revealing telltale fangs this time that served as the final indication of her beast-race heritage.  "I see you have decided to accept responsibility for your actions.  Know that the punishment for your crime will be heavy, but I will see that your willingness to surrender is noted and taken into acco--"

The reason she had cut off, Mark realized suddenly, was the sharp ringing of Nick's sword as it cleared his scabbard, stepping forward and unslinging his shield from his pack.  Now that the ludicrous promotion was over, he wore armor of his own--still only greaves and a breastplate, but these were at least appropriately sized, and bore the signs of steady use in battle.  Strangely, though she had stopped Mark, Iris showed no sign of hindering the Eight-Stroke Sword in his defiance of the apparent law.

Theresa's aspect hardened and she crossed her arms under her healthy chest as her green-flecked violet eyes narrowed with ire.  "Aiding and abetting the escape of a felon will land you at least a shared sentence, if not an even worse punishment.  I give you one warning to drop your sword, vagrant."

"Beat it, Mark, Iris," Nick said evenly, already limbering up his muscles and making a few preparatory passes through the air with the blade of his sword.  Not wanting to make his companion's gesture a waste, but neither wishing to flee and leave the man to his own fate, Mark hesitated--but Iris stopped him, laying a hand to his shoulder and shaking her head.  She also restrained him from advancing, which left him doubly baffled.

Nick had already cast the thought aside altogether, it seemed, already tensing in preparation for a fight.  To Mark's surprise, instead of readying a spell, Theresa Ausa raised her own hands as though in preparation for unarmed combat--a laughable notion against an armed and armored warrior with a sword and shield.  But then, abruptly, there were two triplicate hissing sounds, as of metal sliding along metal, and from the three ridges on the back of each arm bracer she wore, three long, ramrod-straight blades with wickedly hooked points sprouted.

As the two began to warily eye each other, blades held ready and boots inching with muffled scrapes across the cobblestones, Iris slowly crossed her arms and watched.  Mark, still uncertain but left with little else to do, shifted his weight from foot to foot as Rose clambered down to duck into a pocket of his pack.  The combatants were silent, their bodies tense and the air around them thick with potential.  Then, on some signal only they could perceive, they lunged.

Steel claws raked across a steel shield,  showering the cobblestones with sparks, and a swing of a sword which followed cut empty air and struck at the brick of a wall to one side, ringing loudly in the narrow alley.  In these close quarters, it was plain that Theresa had the obvious advantage--but Nick was skilled, incredibly skilled, and he seemed well aware of the limitations of the environment and how to use them to his own best advantage.

"Bastard," the enforcer hissed, after the initial exchange yielded no results, and she withdrew to better gauge her opponent now that he had displayed a measure more skill than she had apparently anticipated.  As she studied Nick, the blades of her claws raked against each other, casting off tiny sparks that danced across the stones underfoot.  Nick, on the other hand, readjusted his grip on his shield, and readjusted his balance, wasting no words.  Apparently each combatant had bitten into something more than they could chew.  But it was too late for either to back down now, and Iris would tolerate neither interference nor flight.

It was an agonizing wait, before the two attacked again.  This time, however, the action was so furious that Mark found himself hard-pressed to follow.  He hadn't realized Nick could move so fast, though it occurred to him dimly that in the heat of battle, things always seemed to progress in slow motion.  Still, the two were such a blur of color and motion he couldn't really tell precisely what was going on; they were simply too fast.

And thus, it was over almost before he knew what happened.  A final clash of steel, and a cut-off bark of pain, followed by the sound and sight of an oblong blur toppling end-over-end through the air.  Mark didn't realize until the sword clattered to the ground that Nick was clutching the wrist of his empty right hand, upon the back of which were three long, ragged but shallow red gashes.  Theresa herself had somersaulted backward away from her opponent after her last attack, landing with a flourish of her emerald cape.  She paused to wipe the bloody tips of her right set of claws on the fabric of her mantle, before retracting them into her bracers with another subdued hissing of metal sliding on metal.

"I reiterate," she said in icy tones, as Nick muttered a curse under his breath, "You are all under official arrest by the Magic Guild of Vane."

"All?"  Nick turned, suddenly, glancing over his shoulder and then wincing with a groan.  "I thought I told you two to beat it!"

"With conveniently no mention of _me_!" Rose retorted sharply, poking her head out of Mark's pack once the chaos of battle seemed to have abated.  Everyone else present ignored the outburst, though Mark did shift his pack so he could offer a consoling scratch behind one ear.  That mollified her only slightly.

"I demand you all surrender your weapons and come peaceably," Theresa continued, already confiscating Nick's dropped sword, and extending her empty hand toward the others.  Iris nodded subtly, already unbuckling her own blade, and Mark reluctantly parted with Althena's Sword once again.  Then, gesturing imperiously, Theresa pointed them all in the direction she was facing, waiting for the last of them to pass her before beginning to march behind them.

She ushered the small progression briskly through the streets, the activity in the bustling streets dispersing when civilians caught sight of her fluttering green mantle, and thus it was an unpleasantly short walk to the Magic Circle--A grand disc of bronze inscribed with a five-pointed star, set into the very ground, which served as the gateway to Upper Vane.  When they stopped at the fringe, Theresa gave another imperious gesture, and one by one they stepped onto the circle until, after Mark himself stopped last, Theresa stepped on as well and crossed her arms at the wrist, beginning to chant as a wind imperceptible to the rest began to swirl her cape and long, violet hair around her body.

With a final word of power and a curt, almost irritated gesture, the world blurred around them...


	5. Vane

Vane

"What do you _mean, 'untie them'?!" Theresa demanded indignantly, stamping one booted foot on the tile floor in a manner most unbefitting the Head Enforcer of Magical Law.  "Mother, these are dangerous criminals responsible for the near-total annihilation of Meribia!"_

"The report we received stated that _one_ man was responsible, and these three hardly share the aura of power our mages spoke of," the matronly voice of the Premier Millenia Ausa of the Magic Guild replied, calm and controlled but firm as a steel gauntlet sheathed in a velvet glove.

Theresa had bypassed the Guild's famous "Cave of Trials" with her spell, to Mark and Nick's mild disappointment, instead transporting them directly to the corresponding silver Magic Circle at the entrance to Upper Vane, and had briskly frog-marched the lot of them straight down the main street to the grand sprawling grounds of the Magic Guild Hall.  The "Guild" was actually more like a school, complete with classrooms for teaching the basics of magic--and the occasional triple-reinforced empty room accessible only by teleportation, for lessons and experiments in the more advanced types of magic.  Now they stood in the Great Hall of the labyrinthine complex, before a pair of throne-like gilded chairs padded with red velvet, one of which was occupied by the current matriarch of the Magic Guild.

Millenia was human, which hinted that Theresa's father had to have been the beast-man half of her parentage.  Theresa had likely gotten most of her looks from her father, as well, save for a few subtle mannerisms and a general cast about the eyes; if not for those features, Mark might have almost thought Theresa adopted.  Millenia Ausa was of middling age; the only markings of age on her face were the subtle lines of a stressful position of power, though interspersed with reassuring laugh-lines as well, making it difficult to feel intimidated by this woman.  She was small, very nearly as small as her daughter, with white-gray hair that looked to have been the color she had borne all her life, since she didn't seem quite old enough for the white of age to be setting in.  Unlike her child, Millenia Ausa dressed more conservatively mage-like, wearing flowing gold-trimmed maroon robes and keeping a long gilded mage's cane nestled in the crook of her arm and leaned against the arm of the chair.

In spite of her small stature and fragile-seeming build, the Premier spoke with an air of authority, her voice soft but her pronouncements unyielding, and her eyes bore a wise and knowing set, the look of years of experience running one of Lunar's three most powerful and influential societies.

"There's no way _one man could have done all that, Mother," Theresa argued stubbornly, crossing her arms under her chest and tossing her long, luxurious violet hair.  "That has to be an exaggeration.  The man was probably either drunk or scared out of his wits."  The Premier continued to favor her with a hard, unyielding stare, more that of a mother than a superior this time.  Theresa shifted her weight subtly, fighting waves of guilt such a stare always produced in any child, and then finally sighed and swept out of the hall, her emerald mantle fluttering behind her.  "Do whatever you want.  I captured them for you anyway."_

Millenia wearily lifted a hand to her temple, letting out a weary sigh--then her wise gray eyes left her errant child's retreating form and focused on the bound-handed trio behind her.  "Please don't hold this against her.  Theresa is...proud.  She takes after her father in that.  She knows the name 'Ausa' is a tall shadow to stand in, what with two heroines in the family, and she's eager to prove herself worthy of it."  The woman lifted her empty hand, and with a subtle gesture she dissolved the loops of verdant light that Theresa had used to bind their wrists behind their backs--and Rose's wings to her body.

"That's funny," Rose began snidely, glancing toward the last flickers of green cape disappearing through the doorway.  "I just thought she was kind of a bi--"  Mark hastily shook his shoulder, on the pretense of shifting his weight, nearly dislodging Rose and forcing her to scramble for her perch.  Before Mark could speak to cover the near-offensive comment, Iris beat him to it, taking up the role of spokesperson this time.

"She was only eager to prevent another massacre from taking place here," Iris said with a small nod and a smile, which was met by a wan but grateful smile from Millenia.  "She's a brave young woman, if a little rash."

"...powerful, though," Nick murmured contemplatively, his own eyes still fixed on the door as he gingerly rubbed the scratches on the back of his hand.  Something gave Mark the vague feeling that this was more than simple rivalry to one who had managed to defeat his recently acquired friend.

"I'm glad you understand," Millenia said with a soft smile that seemed to shave years off her apparent age, making her look almost a girl, herself.  Then, however, the somber look returned, and with it the burden of years.  "I'm certain you travelers would like to resume your journey, and you have every reason to want to leave as soon as possible after such a rude interruption...but..."

Mark spoke before Iris could refuse and insist they resume--though, oddly enough, she actually didn't seem upset in the least.  "Is there something you need of us?  We weren't able to do much for Meribia, when...the crisis hit, but we'll do what we can."  He knew it was mostly his own guilt speaking, the need to make up for being so ignominiously swatted trying to save Meribia, but none of his companions seemed to object, not even Rose.  They may have had their own various reasons--certainly Nick did, and Iris seemed to have some ulterior motive as well--but that was fair since he did as well.

Millenia's head shot up suddenly, as though she had never expected to actually hear those words.  "Well," she said distractedly, looking like she was still trying to let those words filter through,  "There is...one thing...."

Then, she seemed to collect herself, regaining her focus and her regal poise.  "The reason you have not been forced to undergo the Cave of Trials, even after being identified as the warriors who tried to _save Meribia instead of its destroyer, is because..."  She hesitated, then glanced briefly toward the end of the hall, before speaking in a lower tone.  "What I tell you now is in strictest confidence.  If the populace were to learn of this it could very well begin a panic, but we have no one else to turn to and your actions have proven that you are not adverse to attempting heroics.  For the past three weeks, there have been...disappearances, in the Cave of Trials.  Of course, __some of these are normal; the Cave is a confusing place, and the monsters there tend to discourage the more faint-hearted applicants, but for three weeks _no one_ has emerged from the Cave of Trials._

"At first we suspected it to perhaps be a slow period; they have happened in the past.  But we have sent three investigators into the Cave, mages who had passed through its hazards many times in succession.  None of them have returned, either."

"So now you're desperate enough to ask complete strangers," Rose surmised bluntly.  Mark hissed at her to be quiet and mind her manners, but Millenia only sighed with a weary nod.

"As a matter of fact, that's the truth.  ...though you didn't hear it from me."  She lifted her cane to drape lightly across her knees, looking down at it and running her fingertips over the gilded surface.  "It's come to the point of near desperation; the point at which it would be my daughter's own duty as Head Enforcer to investigate personally.  But she is also my only heir, and more important, my dear child.  I do not wish to send her alone."  She looked up at them, slowly meeting each of their eyes in turn.  "So I would ask you to accompany her.  Though I know you got off to a bad start, I feel that you are the only ones upon whom I can depend.  You may have...failed to defeat him..." she murmured the last quietly, as though afraid of striking a sore point, and hastened to press on.  "You were also the _only_ ones to face the red-haired Destroyer's wrath and survive.  That's why I feel you may be able to help her.  I have no right to bid this of you, since you are not part of my Guild...so instead I implore you, brave warriors.  Will you accompany her?  If not for the Premier of the Magic Guild, then for the weakness of a helpless mother?"

Deeply moved, Mark could only nod, and even Rose kept her big mouth shut for once.  Iris remained impassive as usual, which he was beginning to take for silent agreement, but it was Nick who finally spoke.  "We'd be honored, Lady Premier.  We'll do whatever we can to help her get to the bottom of these disappearances."

Millenia Ausa's shoulders sagged in undisguised relief, her head bowing with gratitude.  "Thank you.  Young people like you do an aging woman's heart good to meet.  I would go with you myself, but my advisors would never allow the Premier to place herself in any sort of danger.  Besides, I can't keep Teri under my wing forever.  She has to spread wings of her own someday."

With those words, she bade them good day and gave them free roam of the city, in light of the fact that they would be investigating the Cave of Trials instead of passing it for permission to enter Vane.

Mark should have known Rose's silence was too good to be true; he was proven right once they arrived outside in the fresh light of day.

"You know, it's kind of funny how Iris' urgency to reach the Star Dragon Tower and the Blue Star waxes and wanes totally at random," she commented faux-conversationally, peering past the hair behind Mark's head at the woman in question.  "One day we're expected to drop everything and make all haste to the Tower, and the next it's 'Oh, let's stop and get _arrested_ just for the heck of it'.  You knew somehow that that crazy stuck-up girl was going to try and bust us, didn't you?  I don't know how, and I don't know why you got us into this, but I _know_ you knew!"

Mark started to say something to shut his old friend up before the words could do more harm than could be readily repaired, but Iris' words took him aback.  "I did," she said idly, almost distractedly, drawing stares from Mark, Nick and even Rose.  She continued as though unaware of their eyes.  "How and why aren't important.  What's important is that there are certain people we must gather before we reach the Star Dragon Tower.  Sometimes I can sense them sooner than others--I didn't sense Nick until I saw him, but I felt Theresa's presence leagues from Vane.  There are only a select few, and we haven't the time to scour all of Lunar for them, but we must gather together as many as we can before going to the Blue Star."

Her three companions continued to stare at her, frozen in their tracks as she walked on down the street.  They only resumed motion when she didn't stop even after rounding a bend, following a sign that proudly proclaimed "The Library of Vane" in bold calligraphic letters.

Mark and Nick exchanged glances briefly, and then nods.  Mark turned to follow Iris, urging an unwilling Rose to flap to Nick's shoulder.  She finally relented, upon the promise of all the fish she could eat at the next fishing village they passed, and the two veered off in the opposite direction toward the arms store.

Mark caught up with Iris just before the door to the library, and gently but firmly took hold of her wrist.  "Wait," he said quietly, urgently.  She stopped, turning to face him with uncharacteristic curiosity in her burning scarlet eyes.  The hand whose wrist he didn't clasp lifted to run fingers through her long navy-blue hair, absently.  For a moment, he found himself at a loss for what to say; he hadn't precisely thought this through.  Releasing her wrist so she could turn to face him, he tucked his thumbs somewhat awkwardly into his sword-belt, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  "Um...can we talk?"

Iris looked as though she expected a trap to spring on her from above at any given moment, but after a glance to each of his shoulders, she warily nodded.  Apparently Rose's suspicion made her more ill-at-ease than she generally let on.  "Certainly.  What is it, Mark?"

Instead of speaking, he lifted one of his hands to her upper-arm, guiding her past the Library and to a small, park-like patch of green beside the building, complete with a modest little stone bench and the shade of a tree's sprawling foliage.

Mark gestured for her to sit before dropping down, himself, a respectful distance away.  He leaned forward, eyes on the stark demarcation where lush and bright grass gave way to thoroughly trodden paving stones, and planted his hands on his knees, even as he felt Iris' burning red gaze settle upon him curiously.

"Iris...you know I trust you, I'd trust you with my very life.  And I already told you I'm not going to quit on you now, not even after Meribia."  He waited for her to absorb that and then give a small sound of wary agreement before continuing.  "But this isn't just about me anymore.  It never was, really, what with Rose and all.  But now it's involving new people, relative strangers.  I think...I think we deserve to hear a little more about what's going on than you're telling us.  We've already seen what these Sinistrals are capable of--I think before long everybody on Lunar will know about Meribia's fate--so we know that much of the danger involved.  But it's not enough.  If you want people to help you, to risk their _lives_ for your goals, you're going to have to give us something to rely on.  If people are going to pin everything on a hope, they have to know what that hope is."

For a long, long while, Iris merely sat and digested that.  At least, he presumed she was digesting it; she was silent and staring at him contemplatively when he glanced up at her.  Letting his gaze drop again, he slowly shook his head.  He knew it had been a little harsh, but it had been true nonetheless.  He didn't mind risking his _own_ life grasping at a slender straw for some crazy quest, if it even meant a sliver of a chance to finally defeat Gades and his brethren; but now there was this brash warrior known throughout Meribia as the Eight-Stroke Sword, and soon the daughter of the Premier of Vane's Magic guild if Iris got her way.  And he had seldom yet seen things go otherwise.

Finally, she spoke, and there was the strangest note of fragile vulnerability in her tone.  Something so utterly alien in Iris he had to look sharply up to make sure she was still sitting next to him.  "I know I'm asking a lot," she said, heart in her eyes and the even lines of her face softened by her uncharacteristic weakness.  "I know I don't have any right to ask anyone to do this.  But someone has to, and I can't do it alone..."  She shook her head, sharply enough to dash aside moisture building up beneath her eyelids.  "I promise, Mark.  I promise I'll explain everything, just as soon as the time's right.  We only need two more people and we'll have enough.  Just four people..."

"Four?  Don't you mean five?" he asked sharply, frowning.  She hadn't struck him as the type to be that bad with numbers.

Tiny droplets of moisture still curled at the corners of her eyes, she shook her head.  "No.  I don't count, Mark.  Mine isn't the right kind of power."  Privately, he doubted that.  He didn't think there was any enemy Iris couldn't stand up to, after all he had seen, even without her magic ring.  But then, she hadn't been able to stop Gades--but he had fled without razing the city to the ground, hadn't he?  He frowned, but said nothing to that, as she continued.  "All we need is Theresa, and one more.  Then I swear I'll tell you everything.  About the Sinistrals, Dual Blade, what Dragonmasters and Althena have to do with them...everything."

Dual Blade and Dragonmasters again.  Was this Dual Blade another fairy-tale he'd never heard of?  He knew as well as anyone else the ancient histories, about the Magic Emperor and Zophar the Destroyer.  But Hiro, legend though he had been, had still been only a man; and as old as the stories of the even more ancient Five Heroes were, he was sure "Dragonmaster" Alex had been as well.  Just a man, a warrior like himself, if more powerful than most could possibly imagine.  There were monsters and creatures the likes of which he had never seen, but to believe something as powerful as a Dragon, a creature one step below a God or Guardian existed...

But what about Sinistrals?  They had sounded like the ravings of a madman when the doomsayer in Nells had spoken of them, but Mark had felt the incredible might of one first-hand.  It was hard to be sure _what_ was real and what was fairy-tale and moonshine anymore.

"Alright, Iris..." he said at last, with a weary sigh, and he impulsively reached over to close his fingers around one of her slender hands.  "I told you I trust you, and I meant it.  I'll back you to everyone else, too, until you fulfill your promise.  I won't force anyone to risk their lives against a Sinistral, mind you, but I'll try to keep us all patient until you can talk."

The clasping of her hand had surprised her.  He could tell that by the subtle flicker of it in her eyes, though she was always so good at concealing such things.  Already, her face was beginning to resolve itself back into the hard mask of impassiveness once again, the droplets of moisture from the corners of her eyes gone as though they had never been.  But she nodded when he spoke, a tiny half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.  And then she surprised him, even more so than he had her:  just before the last of that rare softness had fled her eyes and her visage, she darted in quick as a hummingbird--or Rose pouncing a choice catch of salmon--and he felt warmth against his mouth as she laid her lips against it.

It was a fleeting touch, over just as he realized what she had done, and he found himself blinking to find her gone from the bench and already walking toward the door of the library once again.  The only thing she said, glancing over her shoulder with a similarly fleeting smile, was "Thank you, Mark."  Then she was gone into the library doors.

Mark merely sat there for some time, assimilating what had just happened.  The Blue Star was high in the sky and the sun just beginning to set, before he finally rose from the bench and began walking back toward the Guild Hall, where chambers had been generously prepared for them by express order of the Premier herself.

The next day, however, he almost forgot those strange events in the flurry of activity preparing for their mission.  Iris certainly acted no different than she had since he'd met her, and everything seemed more or less back to normal.

Theresa was assuredly not happy about her choice of "lackeys", as she so succinctly put it.  While she was still boldly convinced of her own superiority and ability to put them down if they caused any trouble, she also still wasn't convinced that Mark was not the "red-haired destroyer" of Meribia; by this point he suspected it was more stubbornness on her part than anything, though it was true she hadn't seen the power of a Sinistral in person...probably hadn't even seen Meribia with her own eyes yet.

Really, the only "preparation" left was a brief stint of re-equipment, returning their weapons and replacing mundane chainmail, shields and Nick's sword and breastplate and greaves with magical variants--all expenses paid by the Magic Guild, of course--enchanted for durability and minor protection from magic--or in the sword's case, a slightly keener edge than mere honing could produce.  When that was done with, a heavy-shouldered Millenia herself led them to the western district of the Upper City, where the entryway (or, technically, the _exit) of the Cave of Trials lay, with a haughty and almost sulking Theresa trailing behind._

The Cave itself was a labyrinth of caverns that twisted and wound their way through the plateau under the City itself.  Normally the Magic Circle in the Lower City was used to transport first-time applicants to the Magic Guild or sometimes those accused of crimes to a matching Circle in the bottom.  From there, they had to find their way through the mazelike complex to the exit into the city proper at the top, battling a specially selected assortment of beasts and monsters chosen specifically to test the skills of a budding mage.  The same legend that stated the city once flew, also claimed that whole floors of the cavern had been lost, crushed like an inverted anthill when the city came crashing down to Lunar.

They were to run the gauntlet in reverse, starting at the Vane exit and working their way downward; the better to let Rose retreat and report if they found something important, in case magical escape was blocked.  In case it _wasn't blocked, they were also supplied with a Dragonfly Wing: a mystic artifact, a one-use charm in the semblance of a batlike wing that held the power to send a small group of people to the entrance of the Cave of Trials, provided they maintained physical contact as it was invoked.  After an exaggerated motherly reminder for caution from the Premier, they began their descent._

They walked two-by-two as they stepped inside, Theresa and Nick taking point since she was supposedly "leader" of the expedition, and he had reiterated his role as Mark's "personal guard".  Iris and Mark followed, Mark because Rose needed to be as close to the rear as possible in case of need to fly out, and Iris because it was the only logical position left.  At least, that was Mark's reasoning.  Each of the two women carried a glimmering ball of magically-spawned light hovering above one raised palm, providing light to walk by between the sporadically placed torches, but the men insisted on plucking torches of their own out of the first two wall-sconces they found.  One never could be too careful; something was obviously able to dispatch powerful mages in these lower levels, and that meant something was neither afraid of nor, probably, very susceptible to magic.

The first and most conspicuous abnormality they picked up on was the fact that there were no monsters.  Even when they went quite deliberately out of their way to make noise, in the hopes of drawing out whatever it might have been causing these disappearances, nothing drew near to investigate the sound.  That in itself was odd, Theresa admitted, because normally the beasts were very sensitive to sounds and would charge aggressively at the faintest scraping of boots over stone.

In fact, there seemed to be little sign of habitation at all.  Theresa told them that even apart from the monsters, there were always at least two or three applicants lost down in the Cave, sometimes having lived there for weeks on end without finding their way out.  However, there was no hint that either monster or man had dwelt in this place in weeks.  It was so quiet they could hear their breath rasping and the scuffling of their boots as they walked, tiny pebbles skittering with the motions on occasion.

"I don't like it," Rose grumped loudly, her shrill voice echoing off the high ceiling and the close walls.  "Where _is everybody?  Or, er, every__thing?"_

"That's what we're here to find out, Rose," Mark reminded in unnecessarily hushed tones.  "Now keep quiet.  We've already made enough noise; now we have to see if we can find whatever's causing all this--and hope we haven't already alerted it to our presence."

Rose lapsed into discontented mumbling after that, but at least she was quiet.  There were a few points where the tunnel diverged, and Theresa was insistent on the party splitting up to cover both (or all, in the case of multiple forks) paths, but Iris would hear none of it and the agitated leader was forced to relent under the power of that scarlet glare.

It was several uneventful floors, descending rough-hewn steps two-by-two, before Theresa let out a shrill, startled yelp.  At first, Mark was a little perplexed; all he saw within the globe of illumination cast about by her light spell and Nick's torch was a smear of dampness, possibly red.  But apparently her mage light was for her companions' sake more than her own--perhaps having to do with her beast-race blood--for what she had seen was beyond the light, revealed before she could stumble to a halt.

Mark almost retched.  Rose _did_, and a suddenly pale Theresa looked like she was about to.  Iris seemed the only one unaffected, as even Nick seemed faintly green.

It was a body.  Sort of.  At the very least, it looked like it might once have been.  It was impossible to tell who or what race, or even what _gender_ the individual had once been.  It was as though a great hammer, too large to even fit in the cavern--let alone be swung by human hands--had crushed the poor wretch against the wall, leaving only a vaguely human-shaped reddish mess.  Iris was the only one who didn't avert her eyes, instead actually straying closer and frowning contemplatively.

"This is recent," she declared at last, with firm conviction.  "Whoever is the cause of this was likely dealing with an escapee.  Which means there are bound to be others still alive."

"Are we close to the bottom?"  Mark asked Theresa, hoping to distract himself and Rose as much as her from the sight.  "How many more floors?"

"This...This should be the bottom," Theresa answered, having only had to swallow hard twice before she could get the words out.  "It should be somewhere near here."

"Sure you don't want to head back while we take care of this?" he pressed, frowning in concern.  _They_ were relative strangers, but Vane's Magic Guild needed its heiress and moreover, Millenia needed her daughter.  Besides, with Iris _and_ Nick along, he doubted very much that much of anything short of a Sinistral could stand up to their concerted might.

"Hmph.  I'm not letting you dangerous criminals out of my sight," Theresa insisted stubbornly, trying almost desperately to reassert her authority.  Well, if that was her way of dealing with it...

"Alright, but be careful.  This could be the doing of Gades..."

Iris shook her head, though, looking over her shoulder at him.  "If Gades were here, we would know.  And besides, these caverns wouldn't have lasted two minutes in his presence.  Presuming he could even fit into them."  She shook her head, then, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword and checking that it was unobstructed.  "No, we are dealing with a mere man or monster, albeit a powerful one."

Mark concealed a sigh of relief and he was sure Nick was doing the same.  Men and monsters, they could dispatch.  Perhaps they couldn't rely on magic, but...

"You have no _idea what you're dealing with, girl."  The masculine voice caused Rose, already woozy from her personal illness, to yelp and then topple off Mark's shoulder, though he managed to catch her in time to tuck her gently into a pocket of his pack.  The four humanoids turned, hands moving to sword-hilts or preparing to unsheathe claws._

Before they could get a good look at the speaker, however, the silhouette at the fringe of their light-range made a sharp slashing gesture of one arm, and both light globes and torches were extinguished with a muffled "floof", plunging all into darkness.  Then, the barely-distinguishable figure's arm shot upward, and somewhere above in the vaulted ceiling a tremendous globe of illumination burst into being, casting all in blinding illumination.  The four shielded their eyes, even Iris setting aside dignity in the face of stabbing pain to the eyes, peering out after a moment to let their vision adjust.

"There, that's better.  You can't make good sport if your hands are occupied helping you to see."  The speaker seemed little more than a mere man...but even Mark could feel the waves of power emanating from him, a sheer overpowering energy that was at the same time new and yet somehow vaguely, tantalizingly familiar.  He couldn't for the life of him imagine why; he had never seen this man before in his life.

The figure wore the robes of the Magic Guild, long and loose with sweeping white bell-like sleeves and a sleeveless green over-tunic, emblazoned in gold with the Guild's insignia.  He was a rail-like man, scarcely seeming to possess the muscle to hold the sorcerer's cane in his right hand, and his teal blue hair was all parted slickly to one side, overly greased to the point that it shone like freshly painted metal.

"My name is Phane," he said, a supercilious sneer stamped onto his face, rapping the steel-tipped butt of his cane on the stone floor with a sharp tapping sound, "And I have waited a long time for this meeting.  I see the Guildmistress didn't have the spine to come for herself, but perhaps when I have the mangled corpse of her heiress sent upstairs it will harden her backbone."

"Phane?!"  Theresa stepped forward, claws abruptly forgotten, as her jaw dropped and her eyes went round.  "Phane, what are you _doing here?  This is no time for games, you're going to get yourself killed!  There's a monster down h--"_

She didn't get to finish.  The moment Mark saw Phane's outstretched palm, smoking slightly after a discharge of blinding light, he feared the worse.  But then he realized the cry he had just heard had been male, not female.  It hadn't been his own voice, surely, and he had heard a faint clatter of metal accompanying it.

Glancing from the corner of his eye, he saw Nick standing with a hand clasped to the shoulder of his shield-arm, from which smoke also wafted.  At his feet, still glowing red with heat, was a shoulder-guard from his breastplate, and beyond him on the stone ground was Theresa, looking between the two plumes of smoke at opposing ends of the chamber with wide green-flecked violet eyes.

"That's dirty pool, mage," Nick grunted, massaging his lightly scorched shoulder and then flexing the arm, ascertaining that it still worked properly even as Theresa pushed herself to her feet.  Iris' sword and shield were already drawn, her pack having somehow found its way to the ground against a wall during the exchange, and Mark gently lowered his to rest next to it before drawing his own sword and shield.  While they stepped before him, Nick edged back to help the Chief Enforcer gingerly to her feet, and within moments he was lined up next to his comrades with sword and shield ready.

Theresa hesitated, peering at the man she seemed so familiar with...then her visage hardened, and with triplicate hisses her claws darted from their housing once more.  She took her place next to the three warriors, eyes narrowed.  She wasn't quite done talking, though.

"Phane...don't tell me _you did this."  The long steely claws extending from the back of one wrist leveled themselves in the direction of the body, trembling only slightly._

"I'm afraid poor Nile became a little...distraught...when I 'invited' him to be my assistant for a brief magic experiment.  All his running and screaming ruined my concentration and besides, I'm afraid as wondrous as they are, these new powers are dreadfully hard to control."

"New powers?"  This time it was Iris who asked, suspicious, and for once the heiress of the Magic Guild nodded in echo to the question in spite of this usurping of her authority.

"My new Lords have bestowed their bountiful powers on their humble servant, a man who was once the laughingstock of the Magic Guild!" Phane laughed, spreading his arms wide in an all-encompassing gesture.  "Well, Teri, you'll be happy to know I haven't fizzled a single spell sense!  ...though they do tend to get a bit beyond my control from time to time."  Phane's shoulders lifted only half an inch and fell, in a profound show of indifference.  "But you know what they say about omelettes and eggs.  All the applicants to the Cave of Trials, and even the investigators themselves, have gladly been helping me to practice!"  Then his wild eyes and joker's grin took on a faintly manic gleam.  "And now it's your turn to help me practice, Teri.  Isn't that wonderful?"

Theresa's eyes were still wide--but this time she dove aside when the bolt came careening at her, allowing it to crash into the stone wall at the opposite end of the cavern and shower stone chunks and dust in all directions.  Rolling to a stop crouched on one knee, she narrowed her eyes and even let out a decidedly inhuman growl, claws scraping against the stone floor like a bull preparing to charge.

"Whoever this is," she said with deceptive evenness, her eyes remaining forward though her words were directed at her three reluctant comrades, "it isn't Phane.  Kill 'im!"

The others needed no further command, and they decided to let the fact that it _was a command pass; officially speaking she __was in charge of this investigation.  When the wild-eyed mage's next attack--a shower-like scattering of curving cord-like light beams--cascaded harmlessly off a dome-like wall of scarlet radiance around him, Mark permitted himself a hint of a smirk.  Sorcerer he may be, but if his magic couldn't penetrate Iris' defenses, he was helpless against good old-fashioned steel.  With three swordsmen charging him and a crackling bolt of fire careening in from a forty-five degree angle above, this would be over quickly._

Which was why Mark was so surprised when his downward slash was met with a clash of steel.  From the sound of things, Nick and even Iris had been similarly deterred, and all three backed a short distance away as a brief white flash and a hissing of extinguished fire indicated the Flame Bomb had failed as well.

"You see?  The New Ones protect their Chosen!" Phane cackled, already dancing further back as his three guardians lined up before him.  They were vaguely manlike in general physique, though their skin was scaly and green totally hairless.  They bore rudimentary armor, single-edged curved slashing swords in their right hands and small round shields on their left arms, and from their postures they were not unfamiliar with the use of these arms.

"New Ones?"  Mark knew he had heard that somewhere before.  Then it hit him, and his green eyes went round.  "Sinistrals?!  You're serving _Sinistrals?!"_

"So you have heard of them."  Phane beamed the smile of the deluded as he affectionately stroked the polished knob at the head of his sorcerer's cane.  "Then you should know there's no point in fighting this battle.  All you have to do is lay down your weapons and line up as I tell you to, and I promise the experiments will go much more cleanly than for Nile.

"Nile..." Theresa whispered, gaze straying to the corner of her eye toward the mangled former body, then jerking violently forward again.

"I've got a better idea," Nick stated boldly, propping his sword lightly against his shoulder as he strode forward, then swiping it in a wide arc through the air.  "Maybe if you banish your three flunkies and throw down your cane, we'll take you in peaceably.  Much as I love a good fight, this dank place is hardly the atmosphere for a true battle."

"To be honest, I really liked mine better," Phane answered conversationally, offering a little shrug.  "Though, frankly, I find melee combat to be vulgar and obscene anyway.  I'll just let my three large friends take care of you.  Dead bodies work just as well for target practice as live ones."

With those words, the mage called Phane stepped back through a door at the far side of the cavern, any attempts to pursue him blocked off by the three sword-bearing reptile men.

"Followers," Iris hissed with contempt as she stepped forward, pointing one sword directly at the creatures with an icy glare.  Inexplicably they seemed almost afraid, backing away and reluctantly parting as she passed between them.  When Mark and the other two tried to follow, however, they blocked the path once again, imperturbable, and even began to advance.

"Take care of these three!" Iris called as she raced through the door after Phane, "I'll take care of him!"

The remaining comrades eyed each other briefly, then reluctantly nodded and paired off, one to a Follower.

Eager as he was to see Theresa in action now that she wasn't part of the _opposition_, Mark had to focus entirely on his own battle.  The lizard-like Follower was no amateur, he could tell from its stance alone.  He was in for a real battle, but at least now he knew that Althena's Sword alone didn't make him invincible or unbeatable.  It was little reassurance, but it was better than pinning false hopes on a single sword.

One thing he realized immediately was that in spite of its obvious combat expertise...the Follower was aggressive.  It attacked first, its curved sword flashing out like silver lightning, and Mark barely angled his shield in time to deflect the blow.  Aggressive and _fast_: a dangerous combination.  But aggressiveness was as much a weakness as an advantage.  The next swing, Mark was prepared for, ducking aside instead of blocking.  Since the beast put so much might behind its rapid swings, it also put a lot of balance into them, leaving itself wide open if they weren't simply blocked.  Mark's horizontal slash missed the chink in the armor at the exposed side he was aiming for, rebounding off steel breastplate instead of sinking between ribs, but it threw the humanoid monster's equilibrium even further off.

The Follower wasn't finished, though.  With dexterity surprising for a man-monster of its bulk, it actually whirled on the ball of one foot as it hopped for balance, curved sword flashing out.  It caught Mark unawares, but thankfully it only rebounded off the chainmail sleeve at his upper-arm, the magically-durable metal keeping Mark whole...but failing to absorb the actual impact from the swing.  The full force of the monster's brute strength had been thrown behind that slash, and Mark went tumbling away, nearly losing his grip on Althena's Sword.

The Follower reached him before he could rise to his feet, and its sword flashed down in a fierce arc.  He barely rolled aside in time for the sword to catch stone cavern floor instead of his head, and the second roll away was closer still.  By this time, though, he had recovered his leverage, and in the midst of a third roll he twisted his body on the floor, one leg snaking in front of monster's knee and the other behind its ankle.  With a scissor-like motion, he sent it toppling backward, and he shoved himself up to sit and deliver a downward chop of his own blade.

It wasn't fast enough; Althena's Sword rebounded off a hastily raised round shield, throwing up sparks and badly denting the shield but leaving the blade itself unblemished.  Before the beast could make a countering swing, Mark hastily pinned its sword-arm to the ground with his shield, responding to the Follower's angered hiss by clouting it across the jaw with the dragon-head pommel of Althena's Sword.

Suddenly, with strength he hadn't anticipated, the monster lifted its own shield to strike the junction of his sword-arm's elbow, carelessly left in the open once he had pinned the sword.  He saw it coming too late to do anything other than curse his own lack of foresight, even as he bit back a scream when he heard a crack upon the impact.  His arm flew wide with the blow, and numb fingers lost their grip on the divine sword, sending it clattering across the stones out of reach.  With his shield arm still pinning the more deadly sword, and his other arm numb from the elbow down, he was helpless as the lizard-monster continued to batter him with its shield.  His only relief at the moment was that the shield's edges were too dull to actually cut, though that was precious little consolation.

He had to get his sword back if he was going to end this, but he couldn't dare release his shield, and if he stretched out to try using his bad arm to get it his side would be left wide open for shield bashing.  Still, he had to end this somehow.  So, taking in a deep preparatory breath as best he could under the mindless hammering of the shield, he lunged, stretching his body out as best he could to reach for the lost sword.  He fought the urge to flinch as the shield hammered into his ribcage, sure that something would be at least cracked by the time this was over.  At first, he felt his heart sink, as his numbly probing fingers brushed the hilt only to send it a fraction of a spin out of his reach.  But then, distantly as though the limb were not truly connected to him, he felt and saw his fingers close around one of the crossbars.

It was like a lifeline, giving him strength he hadn't known he'd had, and with a tug the grip practically leaped into his hand.  The Follower saw its doom coming too late, shield already on an irreversible course toward Mark's ribs...and the Sword of Althena's blade cleaved the top of its skull neatly in twain, staining the cavern floor with things Mark didn't want to think about at the moment.  Slumping with relief as the assault finally stopped, he shoved the corpse violently away with his boots, too weary to even wonder how his two comrades were doing except in the most academic sense...

He was, however, aware of the cessation of the sounds of combat some time later, though how much time had passed was beyond his senses at the moment.  When he heard the others half-walk, half-drag their way over to where he lay, and then saw them hover into his field of vision, it came as an odd sort of relief--if only a small one--to see that they hadn't had an easy time for that either.  He berated himself for the thought immediately, but he couldn't really deny it; at least he wasn't the only one who had had a difficult time fighting just one of those things.  He was, though, naturally glad to see them alive and more or less well, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Everybody okay?" he panted, glancing from face to face.  Nick seemed a little battered, with a tiny nick at his chin and a bruise discoloring his brow, but otherwise well.  Theresa, herself, bore a tiny cut at her brow and a somewhat more prominent gash crossing her cheek, making a sort of crooked X as it crossed the natural stripe already there, and her hair as slightly mussed, but she too seemed intact.  Small, relieved smiles crossed both their faces as he spoke, and each nodded as they went to take one of his elbows and help him up.  Unfortunately, Theresa got hold of the bad one, and instantly jerked away as though burned when he let out a hiss of pain.

"Rose!" Nick called immediately.  He needn't have bothered; the winged green feline was already halfway to them when he did.  She flapped down to a small rock formation at approximately head height with their three sitting figures, and began to hum, suffusing all three of their bodies in her verdant healing glow.

There was only so much even Rose could do normally, but she was well rested and well fed at the moment, and it took only seconds for the three to be restored to full capacity, all of them slowly rising to her feet as Mark uttered their thanks for them.  Then they all turned to face the distant doorway, exchanged glances again, and then nodded to each other and moved toward it.  Iris had taken far too long.

When they found her, she was in the process of removing various bonds from the people still alive in the chamber Phane had obviously staked for his own, cutting ropes and collar-chains with her sword, hacking padlocks off of cages and removing magical bindings with brief incantations.  There was no sign of the sorcerous Sinistral agent, not a promising sign.

"Where's Phane?"  Theresa was the first to demand, while Nick and Mark proceeded ahead of Iris to the non-magical forms of binding.  Most of the released captives offered only a perfunctory thanks before bolting for the door like affrighted rabbits, though a few remained huddled in an increasingly growing group toward the center of the room.

"He cast an escaping spell before I could finish him," Iris answered distractedly, her fingers hovering inches from a tether of pure white light around a young woman's ankle, which dissolved the seconds after Iris resumed her chant.  The warrior-woman rose to her feet as the prisoner fled, turning to face the others and slowly shaking her head.  "Not that I was able to do much.  Even I can't break a barrier spell granted by Daos."

"Daos?" This time it was Nick, through gritted teeth as he levered apart the bars of an apparently doorless cage with his sword and sheer brute strength.

"Sinistral of Terror," Iris clarified, already moving on to another magical binding.  "He leads the Sinistrals.  Most of this 'Phane's' new powers were granted by him.  We'll need something that can break that magic barrier before we can hope to fight him on even terms."

"The important thing is he's gone now," Theresa admitted reluctantly, her claws parting the last rope tether as she turned to face the other three.  "Though we'll probably have to leave the Cave of Trials closed indefinitely in the meantime.  Mother won't be happy, but we must do what we must do."  Then she hesitated, and almost seemed to force the rest out.  "I'd like to...thank you, for your help.  For such suspicious people you're surprisingly dependable.  I may have been...hasty when I accused you of devastating Meribia."

The silence that followed was only broken by the shuffling of the prisoners still remaining, and by Iris urgently ushering them out now that the Cave of Trials was safe to pass.  Finally it was Mark, himself, who strode toward Theresa, sheathing his sword and offering his hand.

"We were glad to help.  And just as glad to prove our good intentions to you.  We're after the same man you are, Lady Ausa, so we shouldn't be working against each other."  For a long moment, Theresa only stared at his hand warily, as though suspecting a viper to slither out of his sleeve.  Then, at last, she accepted the grip, clasping hands firmly and nodding.

The gesture was repeated in kind with each of the other two, and even Rose got a scratch behind the ear, before she settled pleasantly back onto Mark's shoulder.

"Come," Theresa said, her tone less imperious when she spoke this time.  "Let's go make our report to Mother."  There was no argument from any corner.


End file.
